


Between (Pen) Friends

by wolfiefics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky works for the Smithsonian, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, PTSD, Pen Pals, Shrunkyclunks, Soldier Steve, Steve is still friends with Avengers, Steve went to Afghanistan after Battle of NY, there might be more tags as I get closer to finishing this monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: Civilian Bucky Barnes gets paired with a soldier in Afghanistan as a pen pal and gets more than he bargained on, not just one friend, but many…and maybe love.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 130
Kudos: 422
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Amended note on 06/09/20: This is my second fic for Prompt 15 of the Harlequin Hoopla: Pen Pals. Thanks to my fellow mods for having this brilliant idea.
> 
> Want to encourage more mayhem? Visit me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wolfiefics)! I take prompts, plot bunnies, and anything else that percolates in your, and my, brains.

To Captain Steven Rogers,

I guess since we both signed up for this pen pal thing, we should actually communicate. That is the purpose of the whole exercise, to make a friend overseas and back home.

My name, as you know, is James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. My sister refused to call me James or Jamie as a kid and couldn’t pronounce Buchanan so she called me Bucky. I kind of liked it, still do, so Bucky it is. Juvenile, perhaps, but when someone shouts that name on the street I know it’s me they want, so there’s that.

I’m an artifact restoration technician for the Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. but I’m originally a Brooklyn boy, born and bred and proud of it. Still go home on holidays and sometimes a long weekend to see my family. Family is important to me. I’m close to my parents and little sister. I even like my brother-in-law. He’s good for a free beer at the local pub on a Saturday night.

I honestly don’t know what else to write. Captain is pretty high up the ranks. I don’t know what all your duties are, but I’ll bet you’re pretty busy so don’t feel you have to reply immediately. How long have you been in Afghanistan? The info the pen pal group gave me on you was pretty scant so I’m imagining you running special ops groups through caves in some desert mountain. Or pushing papers in a tent, sipping cold coffee. Sorry, active imagination.

I’ll shut up now. Let me know if you need anything from the States. I can send you anything I can, books, movies, magazines, newspapers, candy, socks, whatever a soldier misses from home. I’ve never been in the military so I have no clue. I have read that being a soldier is periods of terror broken by long stages of boredom. Or something like that.

Sincerely and hopefully soon to be a friend,

Bucky Barnes

Bucky,

Hi. I really don’t what to say either. The guys in my unit signed me up for this pen pal thing to be honest. They said that since I don’t have any family back home and just five friends Stateside, I need another friend. So, thanks for writing this soldier and giving a taste of home. What’s your day like? The Smithsonian is pretty prestigious. I take it you are college educated. Where did you go to college? What exhibits have you worked on? What are you working on right now?

Captain isn’t anything special. I can’t really talk about what I do. Normally, yeah pushing papers or doing training and the like but it’s a whole other ballgame on the warfront. And yeah moments of terror broken by long periods of boredom pretty much covers it most of the time. It’s the moments of terror that can be the killer, sometimes literally.

Speaking of ballgames, I love baseball, so anything baseball related that you can send me I’ll love. I’m a Brooklyn boy too and still hold a grudge against LA taking the Dodgers from us. But I still support the boys in blue. So, anything Dodgers would be appreciated. My bunk is decorated with a few drawings and photos, so maybe a pennant or something to tack up and brighten the place up would be nice.

My father died when I was kid and my Ma when I was barely grown so I have no family. They didn’t have any siblings and no grandparents living either. I have friends, I suppose, but it’s hard to stay in touch so far away and them with their own lives to live.

To be honest, sometimes I regret volunteering to come here, but then I think of the men and women I’ve served with, laughed with, bled with and realize I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I serve my country when others can’t. Nothing dishonorable about that.

I gotta go to bed so I’ll close off and send this email. Look forward to talking more with you, Bucky.

Your potential friend,

Steve Rogers

Steve,

It’s not that I can’t serve but I know I don’t have the temperament for it. First drill sergeant that gets in my face and starts screaming at me, I’d punch his lights out. Get in all sorts of trouble. So yeah. There’s that. I got nothing against it, though. My brother-in-law is a police man. His daily shit o meter gets full all the time from the stupid stuff civilians do. That’s as close as I want to get. LOL!

What am I working on right now? It’s pretty cool. We’re working on a Captain America exhibit currently. I’m restoring his uniform he was defrosted in. We’re keeping it in the condition it was taken off his body, rents, tears, burn marks, and all, just making sure that it won’t fall apart at the seams. We have some seamstresses recreating the suit, and his Howling Commandos’ uniforms, from sketches and photos for the display. I oversee all that. It’s a big project. Can’t exactly throw it in the washing machine and hope for the best. The suit will be behind glass for preservation. Once the exhibit finishes at the Smithsonian it will travel around the country to other museums.

Hey, you share Cap’s name! Coincidence! LOL! That I would be working on another Captain Steve Rogers uniform. Kinda creepy, in some ways.

Don’t worry about not being able to tell me where you’re stationed or what you do. Top secret war stuff. I get it. Just stay safe, you and your men and women. I don’t want to hear you got your ass shot up because you did something stupidly heroic. 

A shame about your family, though. That must have been lonely. I didn’t have many friends growing up but the ones I had were good ones. We stuck with each other. I still stay in contact with them. Sometimes friends are the best substitute family, yeah?  
GO DODGERS! Send me someplace I can ship stuff to you at and I’ll get you some Dodger memorabilia for your bunk and to wear off duty. Anything else? Movies or books? Don’t feel you’re putting me out. You’re not. I can get a box together and ship it off this weekend or next week.

Well my lunch hour is almost over so I gotta go.

Bucky

Bucky,

Just send the package to me care of Bagram AFB, Afghanistan. Send me your address and I’ll send you some drawings. Oh, if you could ship over a fresh sketch book, that would be great. And maybe some drawing pencils. I’ve been making do with printer paper and mechanical pencils. Better than nothing but I long for the good stuff to really stretch my artistic muscles.

Yes, I’m an artist. I went to art school for a bit before I joined the Army. I wanted to be an illustrator. Had a few freelance jobs too, but not a whole lot of money in that. If I ever get out of the Army I might take it back up, though. It’s all I’m really good at.  
Books? I like detective stories but don’t know current authors much so use your best judgment. One of my buddies here told me I need to have you send me a series called The Dresden Files. I guess they are paranormal detective stories? I don’t know. Sounds interesting anyway. Don’t know who the author is. 

I don’t read much magazines so you can skip those. Same with newspapers. We can get internet on base so I can look at news all over the world. One of my friends Stateside is pretty up to date on politics so he gives me the low down on what nonsense is going on in government.

Yeah, regarding me and Captain America sharing the same name and rank, coincidence. Ha ha! It’s not like I don’t get teased by my unit all the time about it. Laugh it up, wise guy. You aren’t alone. But still working that exhibit sounds pretty interesting. Hopefully I’ll get Stateside and get a chance to see it. Any idea when the exhibit goes live? I don’t get to come home for another year or so. Time gets away from you out here. Sometimes it goes fast, sometimes it drags.

I thought I’d tell you about the people I work with. Besides the men and women in my unit we have civilian contractors and Afghans that are allies. One of the Afghans, Adel, has a little girl who’s 8 years old and cute as a button and smart as whip. She reads Afghan, Farsi and I’m teaching her English right now. She picks it up quick, it’s amazing. Every morning her father brings her to school near the base and she meets him in the afternoon afterschool at the base until he’s ready to go home. Sometimes I walk them home, me and a couple others, because they live a bit of ways away and we worry. Adel is a good man, trying to live the best life he can for himself and his family. But his daughter, Wasima, she’s amazing. She loves television. I always put on a child appropriate movie while she’s waiting on her dad in my bunk. Disney movies mostly. She’s always quoting movie lines at me. If I can, I’ll take a picture of them and send it to you. So, if you can put some Disney princess stuff in the box for Wasima I’d be eternally grateful. She doesn’t have a favorite, she likes them all.

At the risk of pushing our fragile new friendship, tell me more about yourself. Hobbies? Favorite tv shows? Favorite movie? Favorite actors/actresses?

I like that Chris Pine guy. He is good in the Space Trek movies. No, Star Trek. Sorry, my bad. Not a science fiction fan. He’s got a nice face, at the risk of revealing my sexuality. You know I’m an artist and soldier, pretty much takes care of my hobbies. I don’t watch much TV that isn’t movies or dvds that we have on base. Favorite movie is an oldie, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert in _It Happened One Night_. Timeless. Still funny all these years later.

Steve

Steve,

I’m bisexual so don’t worry about the big reveal. I favor guys more than girls however, but I’m equal opportunity so it’s all good. I’m not seeing anyone currently. Too busy for anything but an occasional date.

I hit up the Disney Store and bought like $100 worth of Disney princess stuff, all the different princesses. I don’t know how strict her family is so none of the dress up make up and costumes, but plenty of toys and even a Cinderella tiara. Should send Wasima over the moon to get them. And I’m happy to do it. I like that you ask for so little for yourself but want to give to those who are helping you guys out over there. Shows you got a good heart, Steve. I’m gonna flirt a bit and say that’s very sexy to me.

Let me know what Disney movies you have and I’ll fill in the ones you are missing, for both you and Miss Wasima’s amusement.  
However, when it comes to books, I got you covered. The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher are my jam. I love that series. It’s called urban fantasy, not paranormal detective, but really both apply. You’ll love them. Full of folklore and suspense. The crap Harry Dresden gets himself into and out of is action packed and nail biting, I’m telling you. Me and your Army buddy will convert you, just you wait. I included the first three in the box. I found them at the used book store. Let me know if you like them. The first two are kind of slow to get started since he’s world building but stick with it, it’s worth it!

The box will be sent tomorrow after my Saturday morning coffee and donut. I found the sheet with your mail information on it I got from the pen pal agency so I got it down pat. No worries. Sketch book and pencils added. I even bought a set of colored pencils for shits and giggles. I figured it wouldn’t hurt.

My favorite actor is Matt Bomer. He was in a show called White Collar, where he plays a con artist and art forger who is roped into working with the FBI as part of his sentence after getting caught. The guy is hot as hell. Beyond just ‘easy on the eyes’. And speaking of eyes, his are the bluest blue. Look him up on the internet and defy me that he’s hot. Women, Angeline Jolie hands down. I’d fuck her, no doubt. Yeah she’s probably a bitch or something, or grating personality, but something about the way she walks and smiles just turns me on like a house on fire. She and Bomer are on my cheat list.

Favorite movie? Good Lord. I’ve got a soft spot for the old musicals. Gene Kelly is the bomb. So is John Wayne, though Wayne was a racist dick, he’s still the quintessential man’s man. But I think I gotta say I love the Lord of the Rings movies. Tolkien, y’know? Action, adventures, elves, dwarves, fantasy, a quest. Yeah, they don’t follow the books perfectly but I frankly don’t care. They are good flicks.

Favorite Tv show right now? I watch a lot of crap television, mostly police procedurals, like NCIS and CSI. But I like the forensics shows about real life cases and criminals. Is it morbid? Maybe but it’s science and science is always cool. My job is a bit of history and science combined so I like it. Judge me, I dare you. Watch an episode of Forensics Files and say you weren’t amazed the scumbag was caught by science.

Let me know when you get the box and if I missed anything.

Bucky

Bucky,

Sorry about not contacting you recently. I was out on patrol off base for a couple of weeks. Your box came while I was gone. I didn’t open it until Wasima and her dad, Adel, were with me. I wanted to see her eyes when the Disney stuff was revealed. She actually screamed, she was so excited. She kept asking over and over if they were for her. Her dad started crying, hugging me. So, when I get home I owe you hug from both Adel and Wasima. She went home wearing the tiara. We put the rest of it in a bag.  
I don’t have _Moana_ , _The Princess and the Frog_ , and _Mulan_. Oh and any of the 1960s ones, like _Robin Hood_. So even if you get me duplicates I can donate it to the base library, no biggie. Used is perfect. I’d hate to have you spend full brand-new price for something I actually already had a copy of. Same for books.

I started the Dresden Files first book, _Storm Front_ , at dinner. It’s pretty interesting. He’s so old fashioned, I get that, being old fashioned myself, manner wise. I’ll bet the author gets a lot of complaints about the character being a chauvinist though. Sometimes the old-fashioned manners get a bad rap that way. I was raised that a woman is a lady until she proves otherwise, no matter her profession. They all deserve respect and care. I open doors for them and apologize for burping in front of them. It’s ingrained. But yeah, I think I’m going to like these books. My buddy says there’s a lot of them. He said he’s probably behind in reading them. How many are there?

The sketchbook is gratefully appreciated as are the pencils. You didn’t scrimp on the quality either! Thanks!

I’ve got just enough time on the internet to write this email to let you know I got the package. I’ll have to look up Matt Bomer later. Cheat list? What is that? Angelina Jolie is a fine looking woman, I don’t blame you there. 

Those forensics shows sound really interesting. Are they on dvd? Or maybe Netflix? I can get Netflix.

As for flirting with me that you mentioned. Only if I can flirt back? Send me a picture of you.

Steve


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a homophobic slur. I'll add the tag for it. It's directed at Steve and he handles it with more dignity than the dipshit lobbing it at him. But you know, heads up for those sensitive to that sort of bigoted garbage.

Bucky Barnes was late. His car wouldn’t start after he’d chipped it out of the ice and snow that had accumulated overnight and he had to call an Uber to get him to work. He skidded to a halt in front of the lab room door and discovered the door locked. He frowned. Carrie should have been there by now. He unlocked the door and found the lights off in the room and everything as he’d left it the night before.

As he was hanging up his coat, his boss, Eric Lombard, poked his head in the lab and said happily, “You made it! I was sure you were calling in too.”

“That was an option?” Bucky asked in disbelief. Eric only shrugged. “I was late. I couldn’t get the car to start. I took an Uber.”

“Feel free to leave early, if you want,” Eric told him magnanimously. “But you pretty much have the labs to yourself today so it’s entirely up to you. Play that obnoxious music you like as loud as you want while you work. No one to complain about,” here Eric curled his lip, “Metallica.”

“Hey, Metallica are geniuses,” Bucky retorted. “They sound good with guitars and full orchestra. I know I’ve got the album that proves it.”

Eric snorted a laugh, waved, and disappeared.

Bucky pondered his options. He was here, he might as well get something accomplished. He would probably get a lot done without constant interruptions and questions from the interns. He gave a fatalistic shrug, walked over to the little desk in the corner and booted up his computer. He needed to log into the system and check his emails. Likely there were more people calling in due to weather over emails and texts. He logged into his personal email first, saving the drudgery of work email last.

There was an email from Steve, thanking him for the care package Bucky had sent about two weeks prior. Bucky grinned, feeling light of a sudden, the way he always did when he got an email from Steve. It was slightly ridiculous, he hardly knew the guy, had only exchanged a few emails but just talking to Steve eased the tension in Bucky’s body and made his head feel light.

He read through the email. Steve wanted a picture of him. Fair enough. They were starting to flirt now that sexuality had been established. Bucky would have to scroll through his selfies and find one that’s appropriate. Bucky pursed his lips a moment and looked around. Was there anything here that wasn’t Top Secret that he could take a picture of to show Steve a little of what he did?

He stood up and walked over to the artifact storage cabinet. He took out what Carrie was working on, hand-stitching a hat and set it on the table. He arranged the papers on the artifact table a little neater and snapped a picture. He then threw open the safe where the Captain America suit hung on a mannequin when Bucky wasn’t messing with it and snapped another photo. Steve knew what Bucky did for a living, the suit wasn’t Top Secret. Everyone knew the Smithsonian had it, there’d been a big todo about it in the media when Cap refused to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. As far as Bucky knew, Captain America’s whereabouts were unknown. He privately hoped the guy had a cabin in the woods somewhere away from the 21st Century madness. With maybe a cat and a dog. Some horses. Oh wait, Steve Rogers had been a New Yorker, he likely wouldn’t know what to do with a horse. So just a cat and a dog. Maybe a fish. Living quietly in the woods of New Hampshire off his government pension. 

Meanwhile Bucky’s Steve Rogers was serving his country in Afghanistan, an orphan a long way from home. It tugged at Bucky’s heartstrings. He just didn’t know what to do about it, if it was even his place to do something about it. Not like he could go back in time and miraculously save Steve’s mother and father from dying or anything. Still, it was sad.

Bucky roused himself from his musings, walked back to his desk, plugged his phone into the computer, opened his email and attached the photos plus a couple shots of him at his favorite café drinking a coffee and wrote out a quick email:

_Steve,  
Snowed overnight in D.C. Cold as fuck. Here’s some picture of my workplace and the Cap suit, plus a couple of me. Your turn.  
Bucky_

Satisfied for now, Bucky switched to his work email, found a couple emails from interns unable to come to work, emailed them back telling them no problem, and then turned to the Cap suit, still hanging on the mannequin in its individual safe.

There wasn’t much left to do with it. Bucky had practically microscopically picked fragments of metal and other items that could further deteriorate the suit. The ice had done a number on it but it was in remarkably good shape considering its age and what it had been through for the past 80 years. He decided it was as cleaned as it was going to get without damaging it further and turned his attention to the leather harnesses that strapped around Cap’s chest and back.

The leather was highly degraded. It did not survive the ice well. It was neatly laid out in an artifact drawer and, hands gloved, Bucky lifted it from its location, inspecting it carefully. They’d already made a replica for the exhibit but it hadn’t been decided if they wanted to exhibit the original. Today was the perfect day to inspect the item closely and make that decision.

* * *

Captain Steve Rogers had sand in places sand had no business being in. He was tired and grimy, with grit in his teeth, for God’s sake. He hadn’t felt this bad since Normandy Beach in June of 1944.

“Sir?” asked one of his privates, a George Irwin. Good kid, from somewhere out West, Steve forgot where. One of the Dakotas, maybe.

“What’s up?” Steve asked in a more informal tone.

“Can I have a crack at Skype tonight?” Irwin looked bashful. “It’s my birthday and I want to talk to my Mom.”

Steve cracked a smile, as genuine as he could make it. “Sure.” He clapped the young man on the back. Irwin was probably no more than twenty-one, if that. “You’ve got it for a half an hour. And happy birthday.”

The young private beamed at him. “Thank you, sir. I mean, I don’t get fireworks on my birthday like you do, but usually I at least get off-key singing.”

Steve laughed, his muscles unraveling from the tense round of patrol they’d just finished. Damned Taliban had just bombed a school not two days prior, so everyone was on edge, tense and ready for another disaster to strike.

Not even Nazis targeted schools. Burned books, sure, but outright bombing children? 

He tried hard not to think about the concentration camps he and his team stumbled upon. The Taliban and Nazis weren’t so different after all, he mused, turning away from Irwin and drudging to his tent to get a change of clean clothes so he could hit the showers. So much for not being tense.

Once he entered his bunk, his gaze landed on the bright blue pennant he had pinned to the canvas wall. In cursive letters it proclaimed “Dodgers” and Steve couldn’t help but give a small smile. He and Bucky hadn’t been communicating long but already the civilian man’s emails were a bright light in the gloom of war. True, Steve got emails from his fellow Avengers, mainly Nat and Tony, but Bruce and Clint sometimes sent him funny stories about their day or, in Clint’s case, incomprehensible jokes in picture format. Memes?

Bucky was different. Bucky had no idea Steve really was Captain America. He came with no preconceived notions about Steve. Bucky was getting to know Steve, not Captain America. It was nice. Something Steve was loath to change or shake up. Steve Rogers had a friend.

Steve almost sat down on his bunk, realized how filthy he was and reconsidered. He grabbed a pair of jeans, a brown Army t-shirt and socks. He was off-duty for the next 48 hours. He could dress as he wished and do whatever he wanted within reason. After a shower and a meal, he was going to nap. Then he didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe there would be a free computer that he could check his messages, do some research on the internet. He did have that new book on England’s Henry V to read. Bruce had sent it to him in the Avenger’s last care package. Maybe he’d find a quiet corner somewhere with a cup of coffee and read.

Plan in mind, Steve drudged to the showers. The water wasn’t hot, it didn’t need to be in the desert but it got him clean and feeling more like a human being than a sand trap. Dressed more casually and comfortably he headed for mess, grabbed a tray full of food that was infinitely better than what he ate during the last war he fought in, and sat down at the end of a table full of men and women talking loudly and animatedly about something Steve didn’t care about.

“Hey Cap!” called one of the women. Steve hunched a bit. It was Darlene, or rather Lt. Darlene Doge. She seemed to delight in teasing Steve, for reasons Steve had yet to determine. It was uncomfortable though. “I hear you’ve got a pen pal?”

Steve gave a glance at the people sitting at the table who were now paying him attention. “Yeah, that’s the point of you guys signing me up, right?”

A few people chuckled.

Darlene was ruthless. “Wedding bells gonna chime?” she asked.

Steve couldn’t determine her tone and was almost offended by her question. “What does that mean, Lieutenant?” he asked, stressing her rank in his no-nonsense officer’s voice.

The others at the table subsided their grins at his tone of voice. All but Darlene, who’s face twisted into something mean. “You realize even emails are scanned by the censors,” she told him.

“So?”

“Flirting with a civilian? Is that good for your image?”

Steve fought and won over an embarrassed flush. “And is revealing the private contents of an email that is none of your business, especially one of a superior officer, really in your best interests, Lieutenant?” Steve snapped, standing to his full height and glaring at her.

She stood up, her face ugly. “You’re a pervert and a sham. You have no right to that rank. You didn’t even earn it!” she spat.

One of the other men put a hand on her arm. “Shut up, Darlene,” he hissed.

“I don’t recall you storming the beaches of Normandy, Lieutenant. I don’t remember you starving in a fox hole at the Battle of the Bulge. Were you at Iwo Jima? Technically I wasn’t there either but I’ve heard it was a hell of a fight. Tell me, Lieutenant, how’d you earn those bars?” Steve felt his blood boil. He didn’t have to hide from bigoted bullies anymore. His sexuality was now no one’s business but his own. If he wanted to flirt with a man Stateside that was his business and no one else’s.

Doge flushed at his rebuke. “Fag!” she spat.

“And for that, I will be writing you up, Lt. Doge, for disrespecting a superior and lodging a formal complaint. I have witnesses that you called me a slur and perhaps even file a slander case against you.” Steve picked up his half-eaten tray, appetite gone. “Anyone present here will be called as witnesses. I expect everyone to do their duty, regardless of their personal opinions regarding Lt. Doge’s supposition regarding my sexuality. And remember, if she’s gotten hold of a superior officer’s private emails, she probably has access to yours too. How comfortable are you with that?”

The table looked discomfited indeed. Several people got up, dumped their trays and left the tent without a word. Not many were left at the table by the time Steve got done staring them all down.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I have a report to write up regarding our last patrol and now Lt. Doge’s insubordination. Gentlemen, Ladies,” and to Doge he directed a “Bigot” and marched away, head held high.

It was the 21st Century. He didn’t have to worry about dying in prison for liking men. And Lt. Doge could stick it where the sun didn’t shine.

The incident, however, soured his looked forward to 48 hours R & R.

He went back to his bunk and sat heavily on the bed, sighing. He knew the censors still combed the emails and letters, just in case sensitive information got through even by accident. However, Lt. Doge was not a member of the censor bureau. How she got access to Steve’s private emails was a problem for the higher ups, no matter how disturbing that was. If she could drop a reveal on Steve’s sexuality what was to stop her from blackmailing others with sensitive information?

Ruffled by his train of thought, Steve made his reports on the Army issued laptop, saved it, and set the laptop aside. There was a base wide intranet he could send the reports through that wasn’t connected to the World Wide Web. He was loath to send Lt. Doge’s insubordination complaint. It could be detrimental to her career. He considered a moment. He would give her until tomorrow morning to apologize. If she didn’t step forward and do the right thing, he would file it.

He dug out his book, opened it to Chapter Five where his bookmark was sticking out, a cat on the beach that said “Just Hanging”, and settled down to read. He would check his email messages later.

When he resurfaced from medieval England and France, he was almost done with the book and darkness had descended on the U.S. base just outside of Kabul. The meal he hadn’t finished was now telling him it hadn’t been enough. He was too late for evening mess, he realized when he looked at his watch, but he could hit the convenience store commissary for a snack and maybe a soda. A bag of chips sounded really good right now. He had a weakness for Cool Ranch Doritos.

He left his bunk and headed for the convenience store, grabbing two bags of Doritos and a large bottle of Sprite. He paid and headed for the area set up for the computers on the internet. Nat was trying to set up a Skype session for all the Avengers with Steve. He needed to see if Nat had nailed down a time for everyone so he could put in his request for it. Also, he wanted to know if there was a reply from Bucky.

Bucky. The man had been right, it was a bit juvenile of a name, but Steve liked it. It was better than boring old Steve. Everybody was named Steve. It wasn’t a common name in his area of Brooklyn in the 1920s and 1930s but everywhere he turned now there was a Steve. Even his last name was common enough that Bucky had seen nothing amiss in conversing with a Steve Rogers, aside from commenting that Steve had a name like Captain America’s. That had made Steve squirm with guilt. He was going to have to eventually tell Bucky he was Captain America but he was enjoying having someone not know that he was loath to break the illusion.

He logged into his email and found a bunch of spam, which he trashed, the expected email from Nat with a date a week in the future for a Skype session at 8 o’clock his time to chat with his Avengers friends on Skype. She also relayed that Clint had been shot on a mission, in the arm, but was doing fine. She did mention she might kill Clint, he was such a baby about the ‘little flesh wound’, as Nat called it. Tony was revamping the Iron Man armor….again. Bruce was digging around into cold fusion, whatever that was. Nat was training a batch of newbies in S.H.I.E.L.D. which was practically a vacation for her. His friends were doing fine then, Clint’s wound notwithstanding.

There was a bunch more spam and then an email from Bucky. It was short and sweet, just a commentary about the weather but with attachments. Curious, Steve clicked on the files. There was a shot of his old World War II suit on a mannequin, looking worn but intact. Steve’s heart panged a bit at the sight of it. He had a new suit, which he refused to wear in Afghanistan. Here he wore the same uniform as everyone else. It was one thing to be an object of propaganda 80 years ago when he’d had less of a choice. Now however, he exerted his considerable influence and wore desert BDUs.

There were other pictures to Bucky’s email. One of a table with artifacts on it. A couple more of what looked like Bucky’s artifacts lab. He perused the photos with interest, a slab of someone’s daily life that was new to him, in more ways than one. The next photos took his breath away. 

They were selfies and Bucky was gorgeous. He had shoulder-length dark brown hair, big blue-grey eyes, chiseled features, a cleft chin and a smirk that made Steve’s underwear feel tight. There was a shot of Bucky smirking at the camera at what looked like a coffee shop and another with the Lincoln Memorial in the background. Steve was stunned. How could he reciprocate as Bucky very obviously expected of him? Without revealing he’s Captain America?

‘Well,’ Steve thought to himself, ‘I am an artist and I’m in a place where the sun dominates. Time to use that to my advantage.’

He saved off the photos to his private Cloud account (as shown how to use it by Tony before he’d left for Afghanistan) and opened an answering email to Nat.

_Nat,_

_I’ll be on Skype at the appointed date and time, no problem. Can’t wait to see you mooks. Tell Clint he’s an idiot if he doesn’t heal right. Everything is fine here, just boring patrols and the occasional terrorist bombing of schools and government buildings. You know, the usual. This is said with sarcasm, by the way, in case you didn’t catch it.  
I’ve got the next two days off duty. I plan on doing nothing but read and relax. All my reports are written. I might go visit Adel and Wasima’s family._

_Oh! Speaking of them, I have to tell you about this cool thing that happened. Some of my unit signed me up for a pen pal program, so I’ve been trading emails with a nice guy from Washington D.C. He sent a bunch of Disney Princess stuff for Wasima. You know how much she loves anything Disney. She was over the moon. I really want to do something nice in return for the guy, but I don’t know what. Any ideas? I hesitate to give you this information, God knows what you’ll do with it, super spy that you are. His name is James Barnes and he works at the Smithsonian Museum as an artifact restorer. Maybe do some digging around on him (don’t be too nosy please) and see if there’s something I can surprise him with._

_He’s really nice, fun to talk to with. I feel like Steve Rogers has made a friend, not Captain America. I know you guys see me as Steve now, but at first you didn’t. It’s nice to be known only as Steve. It makes me feel there’s something more to me than just being Captain America._

_Anyway, can’t wait to see you guys in a week. Tell Bruce I’m almost done with that book he sent me on Henry V._

_Steve_

He pondered opening an email to Bucky but since he didn’t have a picture to send back yet, he decided to wait until tomorrow after he’d taken some selfies.

The hour was turning late and he was tired from a grueling patrol. A four-star hotel though it wasn’t, Steve was longing for his bed. He shut down his session and headed for his bunk. Tomorrow would take care of itself.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve woke the next morning and stretched lazily in his bunk. Normally he’d have to share a tent but being Captain America had garnered him a private tent. Usually it would irk him, but being a private man, he had decided at the time not to argue over it. Now he relished it, glad of the perk being Captain America had wrought him.

His watch that he’d set on the bedside table confirmed what his internal clock said, it was a little after eight in the morning. Though he’d hoped to sleep in a bit more, Steve decided that his brain had determined he needed to stick to a schedule.

A smile lit Steve’s face. Besides, he had selfies to take. He wanted to take a few, non-compromising shots of the base to send to Bucky too. Bucky had sent pictures of his work place, it was only right Steve reciprocate. He shuffled out of bed, dressed in the jeans from last night and a light blue t-shirt, socks and tennis shoes.

He snatched up his cell phone, Tony keeping him in all the latest models despite Steve’s protests, and headed outside. A slight breeze was blowing and everything was golden in the bright sun of morning. Steve snapped a few choice shots of the mess, various bunk tents and the main avenue, so to speak, that the officers’ tents were set up on for as offices. He ducked inside his tent and took a shot of the Dodgers pennant above his bed as well.

He then set the phone to selfie mode, put the sun behind him and took a couple shots of his side profile. They were clumsy shots and he was dissatisfied with them. Private Irwin happened by and Steve waylayed the younger man.

“Hey, Irwin!” he called, motioning the man over.

“Captain?” Irwin looked anxious.

“I’m taking pictures but I’m no good at selfies. Can you take a couple pictures of me?” Steve asked, slightly abashed.  
Irwin relaxed and gave Steve a big smile. “Sure!” he said enthusiastically. After a couple shots, Irwin frowned at what he’d taken. “You’re all in shadow with the sun behind you,” he complained.

Steve got discomfited as he confessed, “It’s for my pen friend. He doesn’t know I’m Captain America. I don’t want to tell him right now. I’m afraid he’ll be all starstruck. I’m trying to get him to know me as Steve first.”

Irwin’s frown transformed into something distinctly unhappy. “I see,” the younger man said and Steve had the impression Irwin did see. “I never thought about that, about you being Captain America making everyone think and assume things about you that might not be true.”

Steve gave a slight, embarrassed nod. “I don’t regret becoming Captain America but back in the Forties being Captain America was a whole lot different than it is now. My image has been used for all sorts of propaganda for decades. People have ideas of who I am and what I believe in, no matter if it’s true. No one ever asks me, they just assume they know because of what they’ve been taught all their lives.”

Irwin nodded solemnly, handing the phone back to Steve. “I get it, Captain.” Irwin’s brown eyes were grave as he looked Steve dead in the face and added, “I hope this new friend sees you for the amazing man you are and not a propaganda piece then. Keep me posted?”

Steve relaxed and gave a small smile at the other man. “Sure. Thanks, Private. Join me in mess for breakfast?” Irwin nodded and the two headed to the mess tent.

The mess tent went quiet when they entered, eyes focused on Steve for a moment before conversation resumed and eyes darted away. Lt. Doge was sitting as isolated as you could get in a communal mess tent, several empty body lengths from her and her nearest neighbor. She looked mutinous, glaring at everyone with a bit of a sneer. 

Steve sighed. Obviously, there would be no apology forthcoming. He would send the insubordination complaint after breakfast then. He really didn’t want to, didn’t want to possibly tank someone’s career, but the kind of slur that she’d hurled at him so hatefully last night couldn’t be ignored. Besides, it wasn’t like Bucky and Steve were an item, they were just pen friends, exchanging letters. They’d just been exploring each other’s personalities and feelings, that was all. Perfectly natural in the way of letter writing and people getting to know each other. Steve was a world away from Bucky; romance was not even a possibility.

Breakfast finished with Steve getting involved in a heated debate over the ridiculous topic of whether or not the Superbowl was more popular than the World Series with the American public. Steve had only a rudimentary understanding of football but he knew baseball backward and forward. Nothing would replace baseball as America’s Past Time, he was sure of it, but conceded that football held America hostage all winter.

Feeling better about his fellow soldiers after the discomfort of last night’s meal, Steve left to send an email to Bucky.

_Bucky,_

_You are a hell of a gorgeous guy. I think you mentioned you aren’t dating at the moment but some guy needs to snap you up and soon. Too much to waste._

_Thanks for the pictures of your workplace. Reminds me of what I’m doing out here plus it’s kind of interesting. Cleaning artifacts was never something I thought of as a potential job so it’s interesting to see it. Do you use a lot of chemicals and stuff? What’s the process? Or is it different depending on what the artifact is?_

_I’ve also included a couple of shots of me. Sorry about the angle. Kind of hard to avoid the sun out here. There’s also a picture of Wasima and Adel, Wasima as you can see is in her Princess tiara. I thought it might make the war feel closer to you back in the States to see the people it’s affecting. Keep them in mind when you think of my fellow soldiers out here. We’re fighting for them as much as for you back home._

_My tour is up in about 3 months. I haven’t decided if I’m going to reup again. I’ve got prospects back home I can utilize and integrate back into civilian society or get a job in the military complex. I’ve been over here about five years, surely that’s enough time, don’t you think? I’ve been Stateside a few times but since I don’t have family I usually let someone else take my time and see their family in my place. But I’m tired. Some days it doesn’t feel like we’re accomplishing much: one step forward, three steps back kind of thing. I don’t know. Maybe we are making a difference but some days it’s hard to see._

_Listen to me, boohooing my circumstances when you’re dealing with snow! I haven’t seen snow in great accumulations since I got here. The mountains here get snow but we’re never in it very long. I’ve served all over the world, to be honest, but New York snow is one thing I don’t miss. It’s pretty when it’s coming down but then it turns into a big slushy mess for days on end. More trouble than it’s worth, if you want my opinion. :)_

_I better sign off. I’ve got a couple days off furlough after a tough couple of weeks of patrol. We had a bombing here not too long ago, a school. Couple of kids hurt. Makes my blood boil, targeting schools. Maybe I will reup again after all if I can potentially stop people from bombing kids. I don’t know. What do you think? Is five and half years enough?_

_Steve_

He reread through the email, made sure the pictures were attached and hit Send. He sat there for a long moment, thinking about nothing and everything, his mind awhirl with thoughts before he roused himself from his seat and left the computer bank tent.

Steve went back to his tent, gathered his official laptop, sent the insubordination complaint to his superior officer with a tinge of regret and stared at the Dodgers pennant for a moment. He pulled out his phone and downloaded the pictures Bucky sent him from his Cloud account. He stared at the picture of Bucky at the café for a long time. Bucky was very handsome it was true, but Steve liked what he’d learned of Bucky more. For half a second Steve imagined Bucky waiting impatiently for Steve to come home so they could go on a date. A wave of loneliness swept over Steve and he set the phone on the bedside table and stretched out on the bed, staring at the canvas ceiling. Lt. Doge wasn’t entirely wrong, after all, about Steve’s sexuality and he’d never done anything about it since coming to the 21st Century. Maybe, just maybe, when his tour was up, he would work up the nerve to ask Bucky out on a date. If they turn out just to be friends, that would be fine, but Steve couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to introduce Bucky to everyone as his boyfriend.

He sunk into daydreams, treacherous though they might be.

* * *

Bucky had been having a terrible day. Nothing was going right. He wanted to tear his hair out, he was so frustrated. “His last name does not have a ‘d’ in it, Penny,” he grated out to the intern in charge of getting printed the exhibit’s informational placards. “We have to have all of these reprinted with his name correctly spelled.”

Penny looked angry with him. “How was I supposed to know?” she snapped at him.

Bucky growled. “Ever heard of proofing? And have you read any of the information on him that we have? Did you ever see a ‘d’ in Rogers? Why would you assume there is when none of the documentation doesn’t? You’ve cost the museum a crap ton of money. These placards are not cheap.”

Penny snarled something unintelligible at him and started to stomp away when he snapped, “Hey!” She paused at the door of his little used office. “Don’t take that tone with me, or I’ll write you up. You didn’t do your job, take the slap on the wrist as well deserved. You’ve been skating by this whole time and I’ve allowed it. No more. Get it right this time or I’m talking to the big boss about letting you go without reference.”

She shot a glare at him over her shoulder for a long moment and then deflated, nodded abjectly, and left his office in a more subdued manner than how she’d entered it.

Bucky sat back in his purgatorial office chair with a hefty sigh. Over 500 placards with “Steve Rodgers” on them, some of them in multiple places on the placard. Christ. The Smithsonian didn’t have an unlimited budget. Those cards were thick, acid-free plasterboard and the font they’d used mimicked the fonts used in the 1930s and 40s. The exhibit was set to go in six weeks. It would take the printers at least two weeks to reprint them all and get them to the museum. Bucky’s boss was going to lose his mind.

But the placards were the least of his concerns. A donor, Tony Stark no less, had contacted the museum to state he had some Howling Commando paraphernalia of his father’s he wanted to loan to the museum for the exhibit. Nothing like waiting until the last minute. It was now Bucky’s job to go to New York and look the items over to see which ones they wanted to borrow, if any. Bucky had been not so subtly advised to take something, even if it was of little value, so as not to upset someone as important as Tony Stark.

The museum had given Bucky five days to look the artifacts over and negotiate with Mr. Stark, or Mr. Stark’s representatives, regarding the loan. He was going to head out on Saturday morning by train and stay with his parents, combining business with pleasure. He was actually looking forward to the trip. Excited even. God knows what Stark’s father, Howard, had saved from his time with Strategic Scientific Reserve, or SSR, dealing with the Howling Commandos. It could be junk, but Bucky didn’t think so. It was likely a gold mine of artifacts. Bucky sensed he would have a hard time narrowing the choices down, not trying desperately to find something of value.

It didn’t hurt that Bucky had a bit of a man crush on Tony Stark as well. He hoped the billionaire, genius, philanthropist would at least drop by and introduce himself to Bucky. Bucky hoped he could maintain a professional mien if that happened and not become a tongue-tied mess. Sure, Tony Stark was undoubtedly a bit of an asshole, rich men in Bucky’s experience usually were, but the brain between the man’s ears was amazing. If Bucky was extremely lucky, he might get a glimpse of the Iron Man suit somehow.

Shaking himself from his more pleasant thoughts to the situation at hand, he picked up the interoffice phone and called Eric to give the boss the bad news about the placards. As expected, Eric lost his mind.

“She did what?” Eric all but screamed in frustration.

“I know.” Bucky rubbed between his eyes, trying to will away the impending headache. “I’ve already reprimanded her. Someone else is going to have to proof them. God knows what other errors are in there.”

Eric literally growled through the receiver. “She screws up once more, she’s out. I don’t care how highly recommended she came. Let her run the exhibits of some small county museum, but that attitude and sloppiness isn’t going to fly at the Smithsonian.”

“I know.” Bucky tried to be placating but he was as equally frustrated. “I leave for New York this weekend. Who do you want to proof once she makes the corrections?”

“Who do you trust?” asked Eric, still sounded miffed but calmer about it.

“Carrie’s got a good attention to detail. She’s just about finished with the leather harnesses. We can keep her another couple of weeks until the placards get fixed. She isn’t slated to start her new job for another couple of months.”

“Do it,” ordered Eric. “It’s bad enough we got Stark’s contributions last minute, that’s gonna be a nightmare to organize into the exhibit as it is. I did not need the news of this placard mess to add to the plate.”

“Tell me about it. I about lost my shit when I realized what Penny’d done.”

“All right. Enjoy New York. Bit of a working vacation, I know. God knows after this gets off the ground and is the success I know it will be, we’d have earned an actual vacation,” Eric told him, sounding more cheerful despite the stress.

“I plan on booking a cruise to the Bahamas. As soon as I find someone to share it with,” joked Bucky. After hanging up, Bucky let out a big sigh of relief that the call hadn’t gone worse. He hadn’t checked his emails in the last couple hours, he should probably do that.

Nothing of importance from his work email so he logged into his personal email. There was one from his sister, ecstatic at Bucky being in New York next week, with her making plans for various dinners and whatnot. As long as Bucky wasn’t doing the cooking he was fine with whatever his sister was planning. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when he realized there was an email from Steve. With attachments.

He read Steve’s email, a big grin on his face and then eagerly opened the photo attachments. The base pictures were drab canvas tents, dirt and sand. Nothing enlivening but it gave Bucky a sense of Steve’s daily life. Steve was right about the shots of him. The sun’s glare made it hard to make out Steve’s features crisply but Bucky could tell still that Steve was a fine-looking man, chiseled jaw, sunny blond hair and a radiant smile that made Bucky’s heart flipflop.

Staring at one picture that was obviously taken by a friend as it was almost a full body shot, Bucky could appreciate Steve’s broad shoulders and muscular physique. The guy was built and built well. Bucky wondered if he was drooling, reached up to wipe his chin and found it dry. Too bad, the shot was drool worthy.

Steve was saying in the email his tour was up soon. Bucky gave serious consideration to finding out that if Steve came Stateside he’d be interested in a date or two. Definitely some mattress tango. No way could Bucky let a body like that not be worshipped. It was worthy of any god, Greek or otherwise. However, Steve didn’t seem like the casual fuck kind of guy. Bucky didn’t know why he thought that, it was just the impression he got out of the emails. Bucky found that didn’t bother him too much. He was getting to the point where casual flings were okay to scratch an itch but were soulfully unfulfilling. One night stands were gone by morning. Bucky wanted to wake up to someone with bad morning breath and still want to kiss them senseless.

Good Lord, he was thinking of becoming domesticated. If his sister, Becca, found out about this Bucky would be set up on so many blind dates it would make his head spin. Best keep these thoughts to himself. But, he mused, it wouldn’t hurt to sound Steve out. Steve was sweet, sincere, and good looking. Bucky could definitely do worse.

He opened a replying email to Steve and wrote:

_Steve,_

_If you decide to leave the Army and come stateside, rest assured you’d have me as a reference for any job you apply for. Not that you’d need it. Having military credentials carries a lot of weight. Let me know if you’re serious, though, I’ve got a buddy at the Veteran’s Administration that focuses on getting returning soldiers into the work force. Also, not to put a fine line on it, you’re probably going to be dealing with a lot of mental health shit becoming a civilian again, PTSD, hyper awareness and the like. Having an in at the VA will help a lot with that. Like I said, let me know._

_On the chance of sounding crass, you look like a million bucks in those photos and I’d do you. Yeah, the angle of the sun isn’t very flattering, but I can see enough to know you are smoking hot. If you stay in the Army at least try to get some time in the States. I’ll take you out, wine you and dine you. Least I could do, right?_

_We had a bit of kerfuffle here for the exhibit. One of the lazier interns screwed up the informational placards. She didn’t notice, or spelled incorrectly to begin with, that the spelling of Captain Rogers name on the placards is Rodgers. These placards don’t come cheap. They are special archival poster board, acid free and all that as some of them are inside the displays with the artifacts. And she had the nerve to get mad at me when I reprimanded her. My boss went through the roof. I’m not in trouble, at least I don’t think I am, but this is a huge setback on the display. We have to have those informational placards to setup the displays. Nice big headache to start the day._

_But I do have something to look forward to. A donor has come forward with some artifacts they are willing to loan us for the Howling Commando side of the exhibit. I’m going to New York for a week to look them over and negotiate the loan. I’m going to stay with my parents and spend as much time as I can with my family, soaking up that New York State of Mind, to quote Billy Joel. Anything from New York you absolutely can’t live without? I don’t think I can send you a bagel, probably be moldy by the time it gets to you, but anything else? Let me know. I leave for New York on Saturday morning and I’ll be there until the following weekend. Like a working vacation, oxymoronic though that sounds._

_The picture of Wasima with her tiara is seriously cute. I’m printing that out and hanging it on the corkboard in my office. Sound out if her parents would be okay with a princess dress and what size she would wear. I’ll pick one up to go with the tiara. She can be a real princess that way._

_I better get back to work. This placard mess has got to be straightened out before I leave this weekend. Take care, stay safe. Glad you got a couple days off._

_Bucky_

Satisfied that he’d made the first move and indicated his interest in Steve, Bucky hit send with only a little pang of uncertainty. Maybe Steve wasn’t looking for a romantic interest? Well, it was done now. If Steve wasn’t interested it’s not like Bucky had invested a lot of emotional energy into the idea at this point. It would all come out in the wash, as his grandmother would always say.

Still, Bucky couldn’t help a little kernel of hope.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky settled in his parent’s guest bedroom that was really his bedroom when he was in New York. Though they had long sold the house they’d raised the family in, the new home was equally welcoming to Bucky, devoid of childhood memories though it was. Dinner that night was raucous. His sister, Becca, her husband, Greg, and their five-year old munchkin, Brittany, had come over and Bucky’s mother, Winifred, had made tacos in large quantities, putting one on Bucky’s plate as soon as he finished the previous one.

“Death by Chocolate cake for dessert!” Winifred Barnes announced once the table was groaning from an excess of Mexican food. The idea of dessert made Bucky’s pants feel tighter.

“Not right now, Ma,” he said around a discreet burp that made Brittany giggle.

Though the family kept up between phone calls, text messages and emails, they traded news and gossip.

“So Tony Stark, huh?” Greg said, delving into an ungodly large slice of chocolate cake.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “I mean, he could have told us months ago, nothing like waiting until the last minute, but he’s probably got a treasure trove of stuff just begging to be cataloged, organized and put in my hot little hands for the exhibit.”

Bucky’s father, George, looked impressed. “I mean, in his youth, he was a wastrel, waste of space, but since his kidnapping and torture in Afghanistan, he’s really turned his life around. I guess he just needed to shown the error of his ways. Hell of way for that to happen, but it certainly worked. He’s a credit to his father’s name, though I wonder what Howard Stark would have thought of his son redirecting the company away from weapons to all the stuff Stark Industries is doing now.”

Bucky shrugged noncommittally. “Who knows what Howard Stark would have thought. But yeah, Tony’s really made a mark of his own, not just following in his father’s footsteps. I doubt though I’ll even see him. I’ll probably be dealing with some assistant or something. He might come down and introduce himself before going off to do whatever genius things he does all day.”

Bucky tried to be nonchalant about it but Becca saw through him. “But that’s not what you’re hoping,” she chuckled. “Face it, big brother, you’ve got a man crush. You’ll be a stammering idiot if the man himself appears.”

Bucky stuck his tongue out at her but didn’t make a retaliatory comment.

Winifred looked thoughtful as she spoke. “Despite all the damage Stark weapons did, Tony Stark has really turned the company around. And being Iron Man doesn’t exactly hurt his business. It makes for good visibility. And as critical as everyone was about him making that Potts woman his new CEO, she’s doing a fantastic job. She’s no pushover, from what I’ve read, keeping the company on the new path with an almost fanatical zeal. I can’t imagine Howard Stark would be all that disappointed. It’s a different world today than the one that Howard Stark created the company for. There are plenty of dimwits making guns, why do we need one. We do need more people being more creative in making life easier, healthier and our environment survivable. New priorities, new directions for those that have the balls to go ahead and make the sacrifice away from the old ways. Tony Stark should be commended for his foresight and determination.” She gave her oldest child a fond look. “If Bucky does indeed have a ‘man crush’ on Tony Stark, I’d say it is well-deserved.”

Bucky fought and lost to a blush. “Ma,” he protested. “You sound like you’re trying to matchmake.”

“You could do worse than a billionaire philanthropist,” she calmly rejoined.

“And the fact that he’s dating Pepper Potts?” challenged Bucky with a grin. His mother would never give up trying to get her oldest child happily settled down.

Winifred made a vague, dismissive gesture. “I hope you brought appropriate clothes to make a good impression,” she wheedled.

Bucky and Greg shared exasperated looks. “Yes, Mother. I brought clothes that have no obvious stains or holes in them. I’ll be entirely professional.”

“I should probably review what you plan on wearing, just in case,” Winifred began but was interrupted by her husband.

“He’s almost thirty. I think he can dress himself, Winifred,” George said with no little amusement. Winifred made no comment, but pointedly eyed Bucky’s grungy, travel wrinkled Metallica sweatshirt and faded old jeans. George rolled his eyes but let it go.

The conversation turned to Greg’s latest case dealing with some of the local gangs, focusing Winifred’s fussing on Bucky’s brother-in-law. Bucky was relieved the heat was off him but felt sorry that it was now Greg in the hot seat.

Once dinner was finished and Becca and her family had departed, Bucky went upstairs to unpack his suitcase. He hadn’t lied to his mother about his clothes. He’d brought some button up shirts, ties and slacks as well as casual clothes for wearing with his family and going out. He’d make a good impression for the sake of the Smithsonian and his own reputation.

He lay back on the bed and tried to relax both mind and body. He hadn’t had an email from Steve in a couple of days. He knew Steve was slated for another patrol stint, so it was expected Steve would be incommunicado, but today there’d been on the news stories of several bombings in and around Kabul, Afghanistan. He hoped Steve, any American troops and their Afghanistan allies such as the loving Adel and adorable Wasima weren’t caught in the blasts.

Steve’s last email had included Wasima’s rough size and an okay from her parents for some dress up costumes. One of Bucky’s intended trips was with his niece, Brittany, to shop for Wasima. For Brittany, the war overseas wasn’t even a blip on her five-year old radar. Maybe shopping for a little girl roughly her age in a war-torn country would bring home a little bit how good Brittany had it. It might be too deep for a five-year old to comprehend but the shopping would be exciting for Brittany all the same. It would be a nice uncle/niece outing besides. He didn’t get to spend much one on one time with his niece very often.

He vaguely heard his parents go to bed and decided they had the right idea. He changed into his pajamas which consisted of a worn AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of sweats that he’d lost the drawstring to so they rode low on his hips.

Just as he turned off the lights, it occurred to Bucky that Steve rarely asked for anything for himself. While he was in New York, Bucky would take a bunch of pictures and maybe try to find some unique New York tchotchkes to send in the next box to Afghanistan. The picture of Steve’s bunk looked devoid of personal items, the Dodgers pennant notwithstanding.

With a last thought and wish that Steve was safe Bucky settled down and went to sleep.

* * *

The week passed quickly for Steve and before he knew it he was in front of a computer with a Skype call ringing in from Natasha. He clicked to accept the call and was almost deafened by a chorus of greeting shouts and hoots from the assembled Avengers. Steve was even pleased to see Agent Phil Coulson, and miracle of miracles, S.H.I.E.L.D. director Nick Fury in the crowd.

“Hey, Cap!” crowed Tony, “Have you picked sand out of your crack enough? Ready to come stateside and be a civilian?”

Steve couldn’t help the big smile on his face seeing his friends all gathered and jostling for position to see him on the screen and be seen by him in return. “Hi, guys!” he exclaimed happily. “I’m giving serious consideration to coming home after this tour is up, Tony, so you start planning my welcome home party. I’m partial to that 50 year old whiskey I had on my leaving party.”

Tony and Clint whooped and high fived each other jubilantly but what caught Steve’s attention was the shared smirk between Nat and Fury. He wondered if he was going to regret that announcement if those two were already planning his future. Fury, Steve knew he could handle. Nat was a force of nature. Once she had an idea in mind it took an act of God to dissuade her.

Everyone took a turn updating Steve on their work lives, personal lives and teasing him about his Afghanistan tan, as Clint called it.

“Where’s Pepper?” asked Steve, interrupting Bruce’s long winded lecture on the properties of something Steve had already forgotten. Steve noticed the absence of Tony’s red headed keeper/girlfriend.

“She’s in Tokyo for some business meetings,” Tony all but pouted. “We’re thinking about buying some robotics firm I’ve been panting about. She’s negotiating that. But she sends her love and demands that you come stateside next furlough you get.”

Steve gave wry smile. “My next furlough is my end of tour, Tony. But I promise that at that time I’m coming stateside even for a couple weeks if I don’t decide to make it permanent.”

Nat frowned. “Steve, you’ve been over there a long time. Surely you’ve fought enough.”

Steve gave her a soft smile. “This is what Dr. Erskine made me for, to fight the good fight.”

Coulson hummed. “True, but he wouldn’t want you to neglect living life in lieu of that. As much as I’m proud of what you’ve done since waking up in this century, I agree with Romanov. It’s time you came home.”

Fury piped up with a sly smile. “I can put you to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately. I’ve been keeping positions on hold just for you when you come home.”

Steve grinned. “Maybe I just want to be a listless artist, living in a studio full of canvases and begging galleries to give me a showing?”

Fury and Coulson both made expressions of disgust but Tony got Steve’s attention with his snort of derision. “Like you’ll be living that way. I’ve already got you a set of rooms in the tower. All you have to do is buy furniture and start accumulating all the crap us 21st Century people collect. I recommend Funko Pops. They’re fun, they’re cute and they are complete pointless.”

Steve resolved to look up on the internet what Funko Pops were but shook his head at Tony’s words. “Hope springs eternal, Tony?” he remarked.

“I don’t care that you went back to the Army, you’re still an Avenger. You’ve always got a place with us,” Tony told him with a stubborn set to his mouth and his eyes gleaming with fierce fire.

It warmed Steve seeing Tony’s extravagant friendship, considering their rocky meeting. Tony was the one of his friends Steve felt he had least in common with but apparently it didn’t matter to Tony. Steve was honored to have the cynical billionaire’s good regard, knowing how hard it was to earn.

“All right. I’ll move into the tower, then. I’ll even take advantage of an interior decorator so I won’t offend your posh sensibilities, Tony.”

Tony smirked but it lapsed into a full-blown chuckle. “Deal, Spangles,” he chortled.

Bruce was grinning broadly. “We understand from Nat you’ve made a new friend?”

Steve wanted to squirm but refrained. “Yeah my team signed me up for a pen pal program. The guy lives in D.C., works for the Smithsonian. Coincidentally, he’s working on the Captain America exhibit they are getting ready to put on. We’ve been emailing back and forth. It’s nice to be liked for Steve, not Captain America.”

The entire group sobered a moment at his words, knowing they had been guilty of seeing Steve only as the propaganda and not the man he truly was at first. Tony rallied first, easily sloughing off any sense of guilt he might harbor.

“I’ve contacted the Smithsonian about donating some of Dad’s Howling Commando junk. The Smithsonian is sending this James Barnes to look it over and see what they want to borrow for the exhibit. We’re checking this guy out.” Tony gave an unrepentant grin to Bruce’s admonishing look.

“He’s just a regular guy, Tony,” protested Steve. “It’s not like he’s Hydra or Taliban or anything.”

Tony got a stubborn look on his face. “He still has to pass the friends test,” he said stubbornly.

Clint broke in with an equally stubborn look on his face. “We gotta make sure he will appreciate Steve Rogers.”

“Clint.” Steve drew out the archer’s name warningly but Clint’s expression was unrelenting.

Steve gave Fury and Nat an appealing look but Nat shook her head. “Oh no, I could tell from your email he’s peaked your interest, Rogers. He’s so going to run the gamut of being interrogated by the Avengers. Just be glad I told Coulson here,” she bumped Coulson’s elbow, “that he couldn’t put a detail following Barnes around D.C., detailing his every move for suspicious habits.”

Steve heaved a put-upon sigh. “He doesn’t know I’m Captain America. I haven’t decided how I’m gonna break that news to him. You tip him off and I’ll beat you all to a pulp in sparring, yes, you too, Nat.”

Nat only smirked at him. “You can try, Rogers.”

A voice outside the communications room shouted, “Your time is almost up, Rogers!”

Steve frowned but it transformed to a grin at his New York friends’ chorus of boos and negative comments at the announcement. He gazed at his friends, memorizing how they looked, what they were wearing and cataloging expressions for his memory to dredge up when the loneliness got to him.

“It’s almost over, guys,” he told them. “As soon as I make a decision as to the future, you’ll be the first to know after the Army.”

“We miss you, Rogers,” Nat told him solemnly. To this pronouncement there was a round of heads nodding emphatically. “You come home safe to us. Or else,” she added mock-threateningly.

Steve gave a cocky grin. “I’m Captain America. Consider me invincible!”

“Don’t jinx it!” cried Tony.

“Bye, guys. Stay safe yourselves,” Steve said and the call disconnected. He sat a moment, feeling alone and far away from his first connections to this bright new century he woke up to.

In that moment, Steve resolve to give up his Army commission after this tour. His friends were right. He’d done enough. It was time to see what else the 21st Century could do for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky exited the taxi he’d splurged on to get to Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower, in Manhattan and dodged pedestrians to enter the rotating doors. It was raining hard in New York today and Bucky had forgotten to grab an umbrella before he left his parents house in Brooklyn. He shook the drops of rain from his hair and, using his hands, slicked his damp hair back into something a little neater looking, he hoped. He approached the security desk, plastering an open smile on his face.

“Hello, my name is James Barnes from the Smithsonian. I have an appointment to review some items Mr. Stark wants to loan to the museum.”

The guard looked at him carefully. “May I see your i.d.?” As Bucky dug out his driver’s license the guard flipped through a list of names, running his index finger down the list before locating Bucky’s name. He accepted Bucky’s proffered i.d. and carefully scrutinized it and comparing Bucky to the picture on it. Satisfied that Bucky was who he said he was, the guard returned the license and gave Bucky a broad smile. “If you’ll have a seat over there, I’ll let Mr. Stark know you are here.”

“Mr. Stark?” Bucky asked dumbly.

“Oh, yes, he specifically contacted us this morning that he was to be alerted when you arrive.”

All Bucky could think was ‘wow’ as he nodded to the guard and went over to one of the plush looking couches and sat down. Well, would he be dealing directly with Tony Stark or was Stark just going to lay down the law on what the Smithsonian could do with the items they borrowed? Despite his daydreams to the contrary, Bucky hadn’t actually anticipated dealing directly with Stark. Unaccountably nervous, he smoothed his hair again and straightened his pinstriped tie. It was actually his father’s tie, Winifred declaring all of Bucky’s too ‘out there’ for such a prestigious meeting.

He felt really overdressed when Tony Stark exited the elevator in a pair of lounge pants and an Iron Maiden t-shirt that looked a bit worn in places. The arc reactor in his chest glowed blue through the thin material. The billiionaire’s dark eyes latched onto Bucky and the man made a beeline straight for Bucky.

Bucky stood and held out a hand in a professional manner. “Good morning, Mr. Stark, I’m James-“

“Barnes, I know. Why are you dressed like that? I hope you have a good dry cleaner, some of this stuff hasn’t seen the light of day in decades, not counting when we moved it from California.” Stark came to a halt right in front of Bucky and completely disregarded Bucky’s outstretched hand.

Bucky dropped his hand, feeling foolish. “I, er, was trying to make a good impression,” he said lamely.

Stark snorted a laugh and then smacked Bucky on the back in a companionable manner. “Tomorrow dress like you’re at home. We’re gonna be grunging around, no sense dressing up for that.”

“Okay.” Bucky felt totally out of his depth here but was gamely trying to recover his equilibrium.

Stark led the way back to the security desk. “Hey, Tom, get this guy a badge that lets him up to the lab levels.”

The guard, Tom apparently, smiled toothily at his boss and quickly scanned a blank security guard, typing on the computer, presumably to grant Bucky access. Tom handed Bucky the badge with a lanyard with the Stark Industries logo all over it. Bucky slipped it over his head.

That taken care of, Stark led the way to the elevators without a word but with a come hither gesture at Bucky. Bucky dutifully followed. Once the elevator doors shut, Stark turned to him. “I’m Tony, you’re James, got it?”

“If we’re going to be on first name basis, I go by Bucky,” Bucky told him bemusedly.

“Bucky?” Stark’s dark brown eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he thought Bucky was having him on.

“Childhood nickname that’s stuck with me,” Bucky briefly explained.

“Ah. All right, Bucky then.” Stark watched the numbers light up as they went up and up and up. “As far as I’m concerned it’s mostly junk but I understand that historians and curators of museums see stuff differently. I still have all this stuff because I’m frankly too lazy to go through and see if there’s anything salvageable.”

A tremor of excitement washed through Bucky. “To a historian everything has value, Tony. It gives a day to day picture of life. Or an insight into the personality and thinking of the individual or individuals in question.”

“Right. Most of it is probably failed inventions of Dad’s. But I know he kept a bunch of the stuff of the Commandos, he was almost obsessive about it. He practically had a shrine to Captain America in his office in upstate New York when I was kid. Some of that stuff is here now. Feel free to take what you like, but on loan only, at least for now.”

Bucky’s insides squirmed excitedly. “No, we understand. We’re prepared to give your items the credit. Do you have objections to them being included with the exhibit when it travels the country?”

“Whatever you like. If you want to do some cleaning and restoring on them to make them prettier, you can do that too.” Stark shrugged, side eyeing Bucky carefully. “Kind of young to be handling this sort of thing, aren’t you?”

Bucky grinned, feeling a bit more comfortable. “I’m an old fogey at heart. The youthful appearance is merely camouflage.”

To Bucky’s pleasure, that brought about a bark of laughter from Tony and seemed to relax the billionaire significantly in Bucky’s presence. “You’re all right. I was afraid I was going to get some stodgy, crusty relic who would wax poetic about what I’m about to show you. Instead I get a guy I wouldn’t mind having lunch with.”

Lunch? It was barely eight thirty! Bucky blinked in surprise but gamely said, “I’m open to lunch. You buying? I work at a museum. I’m not exactly rolling in dough.”

“Hell, knowing the rest of the Avengers, someone will have lunch ready by noon and demanding we all show up and eat it.” Stark made the comment off-handedly, either not seeing or not caring that he’d thrown Bucky for a loop.

Lunch with the Avengers? Good Lord. His sister was going to kill him and this would make for a hell of a story to tell Steve in Bucky’s next email to him. Unsure how to respond, Bucky merely continued to follow Tony as the slightly shorter man led the way out of the elevator into a grey painted corridor. Down the corridor they went until they reached an unremarkable door that was had a number pad on the wall next to it. 

Tony punched in a long sequence of numbers that Bucky had no hope of memorizing and door swished open like a door on Star Trek. Tony reached around and flipped on the light, revealing a room full of shelves that were crammed with objects and boxes.

Bucky gulped. “Is this-“ he began before having to clear his throat. “Is this all the Howling Commando stuff?” he asked weakly.

“Good God, no!” Tony gave a laugh. “This is just all of Dad’s crap that he accumulated for decades. Failed inventions, sketches of others that he never got around to seeing if they actually worked. Weird random crap he collected that I a) have no idea why and b) have no idea what they even are.” 

Tony led the way down one of the shelving units until he got to one that was crammed with stuff that would have been technologically advanced, almost science fiction, in the 1940s, as well as boxes with labels in still legible bold print proclaiming a name of one of the Howling Commandos: Timothy “DumDum” Dugan, James “Monty” Falsworth, Gabe Jones, Jaques Dernier, Jim Morita, Junior Juniper, ‘Happy” Sam Sawyer, and Pinky Pinkerton. Try as he might, though, Bucky couldn’t see a box labeled “Steve Rogers” or “Captain America”.

“Most of it is stuff that they gave him, what though I have no idea,” Tony explained, surveying the shelves with a jaundiced eye. “I mean, I might be able to identify something if you have no idea what it is but we’re pretty much flying blind here. Dad’s record keeping was usually spotty, to put it mildly.”

Bucky squinted at some radio receiver/guitar speaker looking thing that had an old sticker label on it that read “micro receiver”. “What’s a micro receiver?” he asked.

Tony snorted derisively. “Oh, who knows. Dad loved making up fancy names for stuff. Made it sound all techy and sci fi. Usually the names had nothing to do with what the object actually did.”

Bucky suddenly was lightheaded as the magnitude of what was before him hit him. He was looking at technology that had obscure, misleading labels and likely had no provenance to tell him exactly what the hell it was and what it did. While a treasure trove of stuff, if he had no idea what it did and what it was used for he couldn’t determine whether it would be useful for the exhibit. No wonder Tony hadn’t done anything with any of these things. He was probably at an equal loss.

Bucky, however, had never backed down from a challenge in his life. Resolutely, and with Tony watching him with a bemused look on his face, Bucky rolled up his shirtsleeves to the elbow and took off his tie, shoving it in his winter wool coats pocket where his gloves were already stashed. Bucky reached up and hefted down the first box he could reach, the one labeled ‘Timothy “DumDum” Dugan’.

“You got a table?” he asked.

Tony arched an eyebrow and led Bucky around the corner of the shelves to a long table. Bucky set the box down, took a deep breath and pulled the lid off what looked like an archival box. Before he could reach inside and start pulling stuff out, Tony said, “You’re dead serious about this, aren’t you?”

Bucky looked up and gave his host a big grin. “Are you kidding? You just issued me a huge challenge and I’ve only got five days to accomplish my mission. No time to waste. If you don’t want to help, just come get me for lunch and tell me when you’re kicking me out for the day.”

Tony’s brown eyes glinted with appreciation and admiration at Bucky’s tenacity. “Hell, if you want I’ll set you up a cot in here and you can sleep here all week. But getting you for lunch is a no can do. I told the Smithsonian I’d let it borrow stuff. I might as well know what I’m loaning out. We’re in this for the long haul, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned manically and stuck his hand in the box and drew out a pair of what looked like joke chattering teeth. He stared dumbfounded at the teeth in his hand and joined Tony in his laughter at the absurd item. A disintegrating paper tag on a string hanging from the teeth but the writing was degraded too much to tell what it was. Bucky set it aside.

The two men settled down, pulling items out of the box. Tony eventually gave up on handwriting out an inventory and had his sentient artificial intelligence begin recording the items. Dugan’s box was gone through, with Bucky setting aside a few items. Then he fetched Falsworth’s box. This box was mainly full of papers and letters. Why the Englishman hadn’t taken them back with him to Britain after the war was a mystery to Bucky. Feeling a bit skeevy to be reading the man’s personal correspondence, he skimmed a couple and found them to be letters from family members. Interesting for a biographer but of little use for a Captain America exhibit.

As Bucky dug around through the papers in the box, skimming through them, Tony huffed impatiently. “You find this interesting?” the billionaire asked. It wasn’t a whiney, complaining tone that he used, but it had a hint of impatience. Obviously he’d expected to find something big and exciting right off the bat. 

“Well, yeah. I’m a history nerd. Anything older than I am is interesting. Sometimes things newer than me that I lived through is exciting too.” Bucky looked at Tony. “I don’t need to be babysat if you have things to do. I can just work with, um, Jarvis on what I find and you can look through what I pick out later and say yay or nay to them for the exhibit.”

Tony peered at him with an almost suspicious look. “It’s just so,” he paused and then blurted, “quiet!”

Bucky laughed. “Well, when I’m researching or restoring artifacts I do listen to music. It’s not like a studying library where silence is golden.”

Tony perked up and then his expression was definitely suspicious. “And what, pray tell, does a curator from the Smithsonian listen too? Mozart, Bach, Chopin? Gregorian chants?”

“Metallica, AC/DC, Disturbed, Haelstorm, Offspring, anything loud and with a driving beat,” Bucky said with a grin.

“I’ve got a hankering for Queen,” Tony informed him loftily.

“Freddie Mercury was a genius,” Bucky retorted. “Make sure it’s obnoxiously loud please.”

“Jarvis, play Queen, randomize the playlist. And turn up the volume. I want the peons on the second floor of this building wonder what the hell I’m doing.”

Jarvis’ stentorian British voice intoned, “Yessir,” followed by “We Will Rock You/We are the Champions” starting at a level guaranteed to burst anyone’s eardrums who happened to walk by the room.

Soon both Bucky and Tony were going through box after box, running through Queen, Metallica and starting on AC/DC before there was a voice shouting, “Jarvis, turn that off!” The music abruptly stopped. Tony, who had been returning a box they’d just gone through that had been appropriately labeled “Crap”, poked his head out from the shelves looking at his watch. 

“We missed lunch,” he reported.

“Yes, you did,” said the voice, distinctly feminine and husky, getting closer as footsteps heralded its owner’s approach. “I made stroganoff.”

Tony came out of the stacks at the same time as a gorgeous red head that Bucky queasily recognized as Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow. “You always make stroganoff,” Tony complained good-naturedly. “I think it’s all you know how to cook.”

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny that. Clint and Bruce don’t complain, so you’re opinion can be ignored.” Ms. Romanov looked at Bucky and then side-eyed Tony, as if waiting for an introduction. When one wasn’t forthcoming, she stuck out a hand and said, “Hi, I’m Natasha, but you can call me Nat. Anyone trying to detail Rogers’ life I try to keep track of.”

Bucky shook her hand, feeling like he was being judged and wondering if he was coming up lacking somehow. “Call me Bucky.”  
“Bucky.” She drew the word out consideringly. “I didn’t expect someone from the Smithsonian to be so,” here she hesitated, as if weighing her next words, “young, attractive and listening to obnoxious music.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “Why do I get the idea that you guys thought only people retirement age worked at the Smithsonian?”

“To be fair,” Tony told him, “I think anyone who works at a library or museum have to be older than dirt.”

Nat shrugged. “Bucky just sounds old-fashioned. My apologies for assuming.”

Bucky grinned and shrugged it off. “No, it’s all right, it’s cool.”

Nat and Tony eyed each other, communicating silently they way close friends could do. Or maybe teammates who regularly put each other’s lives in each other’s hands. Whatever was communicated went in Bucky’s favor, for she slipped her arm through his and began dragging him away from the table. “Lunch, reheated but still edible, conversation and then I’ll let you get back to it.”

Sensing he had little choice, Bucky allowed himself to be taken away to what turned out to be a delicious reheated beef stroganoff and being stared at like a monkey in a zoo by what turned out to be all the Avengers. It would have been amusing if it hadn’t been so uncomfortable.

“I take it you guys don’t get many visitors that aren’t Stark employees?” he asked around a swig of an amazing craft beer that Bruce Banner, a.k.a. The Hulk, said he made himself.

“We don’t see much of anyone,” Clint Barton, Hawkeye, confessed. “Want another one?”

“Um,” Bucky began but Clint cut him off by going to the refrigerator and getting another bottle. “You’ll be interested to know Steve drew the labels.”

Bucky looked with extreme interest at the professional looking label on the brown bottle in his hand. “Captain America drew this?”

“Yeah, Steve’s a hell of an artist, as I’m sure you know,” Bruce commented. “I mentioned I was dabbling in making beer and ales and within a couple weeks I had a slew of labels sent to me, full color, and ready to be printed. He’s a very good friend, very thoughtful and interested in everyone.”

“I’m sure you guys know that his whereabouts to the public is super hush hush,” Bucky told them. “We asked the government, the Army, S.H.I.E.L.D. and who knows who else where to send his invite to the exhibit and no one would answer. It was like we hadn’t asked, or that asking was in bad taste and to save us the embarrassment of having asked they pretend we hadn’t.”

The group suddenly looked uncomfortable. “He knows about it,” admitted Bruce, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. “He’s asked us what we know about it. He’s interested, but he’s tied up with duty, he travels a lot.” 

Bucky thought some of that sounded like truth, but some of it sounded like a lie. The Avengers knew exactly where Cap was at but, like everyone else, they weren’t saying a damned thing about it. All he said though was, “I see.”

He continued to be grilled, which was exactly what the after-lunch conversation was, until he stood up and said he needed to get back to it. “There’s a lot to go through and I’ve only got until Friday before I have to head back to D.C. on the weekend.”

The Avengers all stood up in one fluid motion and, with Tony leading the way, followed Bucky out the door of their common room area, to the elevators and back to the archival room. Sensing he wasn’t shaking his entourage, Bucky instead put them to work. He gave them the basics of how to handle delicate papers without damaging them further and soon Jarvis was cataloging boxes upon boxes of Howling Commando memorabilia while simultaneously blaring various types of music that was the preference of each Avenger.

Nat liked classical music, preferably something ballet-oriented, which confused Bucky. Clint preferred outlaw country, turning his Midwest accent into a twang as he sang along with Johnny Cash. Bruce wasn’t much for music and instead listened to whale song or strange foreign instruments from India. Tony and Bucky vied for who could play the loudest, most heavy rock and roll bands current. Before Bucky knew it he was getting a phone call from his mother wondering where he was at as dinner was almost ready at his parent’s home in Brooklyn.

Armed with a security badge and promising to be at Avengers Tower first thing at 8 o’clock tomorrow morning, Bucky departed. He wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe he could count the Avengers as his friends. He just wasn’t sure why him. He couldn’t wait, though, to email Steve and tell him, rub it in a little bit. Surely a military man like Steve would be impressed that Bucky was rubbing shoulders with top tier fighters like The Black Widow and Hawkeye.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve collapsed on his bunk, filthy, bloody and exhausted. He’d lost two men today, two excellent young, vibrant men. One minute they’d been laughing and joking and the next they were dead on the ground, victims of the ambush Steve had unknowingly led his unit into. The guilt weighed heavily on him and he just wanted to curl up and cry. He couldn’t though. He had a report to file and he’d asked his commanding officer if he could make the phone calls to the family that the commanding officer usually made once the family had been notified by the Army brass. 

He wanted to tell Carey and Gavin’s families that they were heroes, that though their deaths had been senseless, it had not been any less heroic. He wanted to tell Gavin’s wife that her husband was often at the center of the unit’s practical jokes, making everyone smile and relax once off patrol. He wanted to relay to Carey’s mother, father and sister that their son and brother was hard working and compassionate, often sharing candy with the village children, and singing silly Afghani nursery rhymes as he did so. He didn’t want those men to be a damned statistic.

He wanted to go home. He was tired of the sand. He was tired of the drab. He was tired of being on edge even when off-duty. He was tired of being far from his friends. He didn’t exactly regret coming here but he was ready to be quit of it all the same.

He did something he told Tony he’d never do and used the international phone plan Tony had set up on all the phones he sent Steve. He had no idea what time it was in the U.S. and didn’t care. He wanted to hear the voice of someone who cared about him.

“Hello?” Nat’s voice was groggy, like he’d woken her up, which he probably had, dammit, but she’d forgive him. “Rogers, is that you?” She sounded more alert now. He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a loud sob as his emotions got the better of him. “What’s happened? Are you hurt? Steve!”

“They’re dead, Nat,” he gasped. “One minute they were alive and the next they were dead.”

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed commiserating. He heard a rustle of what was probably her sheets and blanket.

“I want to come home, Nat,” he wailed. “I’ve had enough playing soldier.”

She was silent a moment. “You don’t play soldier, Steve, you are a soldier. I knew that the moment I met you. I read all the reports the SSR had on you from your basic training. If hadn’t been for your size and health, you’d have been the Army’s poster boy. The fact that you’re this tore up tells me that you know the price and find it hard to pay, like any soldier should.”

“I’m tired, Nat,” he gasped.

“I know. Do you want Fury to exert some muscle with the Army, bring you home?” The offer was made sincerely and he knew Nick Fury would do it in a heartbeat but it would likely come with the caveat of working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Steve didn’t think he could put on another uniform again.

“I don’t know,” he said miserably. 

“Tony’s still got pull with the military, maybe he can do something, get you out of your contract early. You weren’t hurt, were you?” Nat was being Nat, sounding out options and presenting them matter-of-factly, tactically, the way he knew she would when he called her.

“My ears are ringing from the explosions,” Steve confessed. “The earplugs didn’t block everything but no, I’m not hurt.”

“Just shaken up,” Nat concluded.

“Yeah.”

“I think you’re right, though. I think you’ve done enough. Let me handle things on this end, either through Tony or Fury. You just hang on. Maybe so it doesn’t look like you’re taking the coward’s way out, we can get you an internal transfer to someplace in New York.”

A wave of relief crashed through Steve like a monsoon rain. “Can you do that?” he asked hopefully.

“Come hell or high water,” she promised.

“Thank God I have you for a friend, Nat,” he sobbed anew, clutching the phone like a lifeline. “I never should have come here. I should have taken your advice and stayed and been Captain America.”

Nat was silent a moment and then she said in a semi-harsh tone, “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me. I was being selfish. I was afraid. War now isn’t like it was back then. I didn’t think you could cut it. I didn’t think you had the chops. You proved me more than wrong, Steve Rogers. You are the best of men and don’t you ever doubt that. You couldn’t have stopped those men from dying now anymore than you could have during World War II. It’s the nature of the beast. It’s hideous, yes, but it’s the nature of war to take the living away from us for what we hope is noble cause. That you are so distraught now tells me that it’s pushed a good man to the brink, that’s all. It’s not a reflection on you, that you’re unfit. It shows that you still have humanity in you and I admire that in you endlessly.” Her fierce tone mellowed into something soothing. “Now I want you to shower, make your reports, and sleep. If I know you, you’re going to call the families. Do that too, if you feel you must. Let me take care of everything else. You just take care of you.”

Steve covered his leaking eyes with his free hand and stammered, “Th-thank y-you, N-nat.”

“I’ve got this, Rogers. Now do as I said and take care of you.” Then to his surprise her tone turned playful. “You’ll be interested to know that all this week Bucky Barnes has been at Avengers Tower going through Howard Stark’s Howling Commando stuff for the museum exhibit. He has the Avengers seal of approval. Him and Tony are tight and I’ve already met his family. His sister is a firecracker. If you’re still thinking of maybe a date or two with the guy when you come home, just know he gets our approval. He’s good.”

Christ, not once had he thought of Bucky in the last few hours but thinking about the handsome man at a coffee shop in a photo on his phone warmed Steve from the cold of shock and pain. That his friends had checked Bucky out, subtly, to make sure Bucky was worthy of Steve in their own protective way made him feel a little lighter.

“I’m not making any plans for the future at the moment other than a shower and eight hours of sleep,” Steve told her. “But I’m glad he’s the outstanding guy I thought he was from his emails.”

“And something to chew on,” Nat told him. “If we get you stateside he’s going to expect to meet you so you’re gonna have to come up with a way to tell him your actually Captain America, Steve Rogers from the 20th century.”

Steve groaned. “I don’t want to worry about that right now.”

“Well, not now but eventually. Think on it. You better go. I’m glad you called. Tony will be ecstatic that you’re using that expensive data plan he’s spending money on needlessly. He was starting to get offended that you never called.”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh he knew Nat was angling for. Tony loved to spend money on his friends and he probably indeed was getting offended that Steve wasn’t utilizing the perks Tony wrangled for him.

“I’ll keep my phone on me when I wake up. Call me if you need anything from me,” he told her, feeling calmer and more centered. He still felt out of control, but less so.

“I got everything I need. You take care of you, soldier boy,” Nat said in her husky alto. “Bye.”

“Bye.” He hit the end call button and morosely stared at the floor of his private tent.

He stood up, went to his trunk, dug out some clean clothes and headed for the communal showers. Once cleaned of the grime, sweat and blood, he made his way back to his tent, opening his laptop and starting his report from the beginning of what had looked like a benign patrol all the way through the end of hell. Once complete, he closed the laptop, collapsed on the bed, boots still on, and fell into a restless, nightmare-interrupted sleep.

* * *

Bucky,

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. A lot has happened recently and I only feel well enough to do anything about it.

I lost two of my unit in an ambush on patrol. It’s not the first time the base has lost personnel, far from it in fact, but the first time my unit’s been hit. I should be inured to death in war, mainly for reasons I haven’t told you about yet but will at the end of this email. I had high ideals about the 21st century, that we as humans had progressed beyond the brutality of pointless life taking. It really hit home seeing my comrades, my friends’, bodies hit the ground, blood splattered and lifeless. I sent the rest of my unit to cover and retrieve my fallen men myself. I wasn’t thinking about my own safety, to be honest, just frantic to get them home. That’s what ran through my mind the whole time I was dragging their bodies. “Get them home, get them home, get them home.”

My friends in New York are looking for a way to get me out of here. The psychologists on base have diagnosed me with PTSD and a bunch of other acronyms that mean nothing to me. I’m off-duty until my fate can be decided. I know that sounds weird but I promise it will make sense in a minute. I know we’ve only exchanged emails and photos but I feel you are a friend, the first real friend Steve Rogers has made.

Not Captain America.

There I said it. I’m THAT Steven Grant Rogers, Captain, U.S. Army, otherwise known as Captain America. I didn’t know how to tell you, especially after you revealed you were working on a museum exhibit about me. I was making a friend, Steve. You were coming to me not as someone wanting to know Captain America but someone wanting to know Steve. I’ve learned the hard way in the 21st century how rare an occurrence that is.

I hope this reveal doesn’t change the nature of our friendship. If things go the way my friends, the Avengers hope, I’ll be stateside soon. I hope to meet you face to face then. Let me know if we’re still on as friends to make that a reality.

I guess I’ll leave it at that. I don’t know what else to say. I’m pretty numb right now. Everything is like I’m swimming through heavy gelatin.

Yours in friendship,

Steve Rogers


	7. Chapter 7

It was just an average day for Bucky Barnes the morning he read Steve’s email telling him that Bucky had actually been writing to Captain America. Meeting the Avengers and remembering how they’d treated him made a whole lot of sense now. He was being vetted to see if he was good enough. He was meeting the friends and didn’t even know it.

Strangely, though, Bucky wasn’t upset. He got it. Steve Rogers had gone into the Artic ice and snow in 1945 thinking he was sacrificing himself to save thousands, millions of lives. Instead he wakes up in a fantastical future of cell phones and cable TV, a more materialistic society, but one that had perhaps eradicated segregation if not bigotry altogether. And from the looks of things, like the honorable man he was, Steve had seen America was at war, a new war, and had volunteered to serve his country like he had 80 years ago. But war was a completely different animal now than it had been and, from what Bucky took from Steve’s last email, a method of war Steve had been wholly unprepared for.

But if Steve thought dropping the big reveal was going to deter Bucky’s friendship, Steve Rogers had another think coming. He thought about it all morning after reading Steve’s heartbreaking email. At lunch he opened an email and sent one sentence, hoping it would reassure Steve of Bucky’s promised fidelity.

_I’m with you til the end of the line._

He hit send and leaned back in his chair. Succinct and to the point. He then picked up his cell phone and called one of the numbers that had magically appeared in his contacts list before he left New York, no doubt courtesy of Jarvis, the amazing AI of Tony Stark.

“Romanov,” came Nat’s brisk, husky alto.

“So, my Steve is actually Captain America and you yahoos were making sure I was good enough for him,” Bucky said without preamble. There was a pregnant pause, like maybe he’d taken Nat by surprise. “Did I pass muster?”

“You did.”

“Steve sent me an email. He’s lost some of his unit to a roadside ambush. He seems to be a mess. I take it you guys are handling the situation?”

Her reply was equally as brief as the previous one. “We are.”

“I got a buddy at the VA in Brooklyn, Sam Wilson. We went to high school together. He’s former Air Force, so maybe Steve won’t hold that against him. I can get Sam on the case of getting Steve all the help he can handle to get reintegrated back into civilian life. No offense, but the Avengers are not going to be enough, no matter how fantastic you guys are.” Bucky laid it out there in the blunt way he knew from a week’s worth of knowing her Nat would appreciate.

“I’ll keep you posted. We’re still working on an out for him that saves face. It’s turning out to be harder than we thought. The Army really doesn’t want to let go of him.” Frustration sounded in Nat’s tone.

Bucky thought a moment. “Is saving face really high on the priority list? I mean the public doesn’t know where Steve’s gone. They have no clue he’s in Afghanistan.”

“Steve would know. Despite his ‘aw shucks’ attitude, he’s got a lot of pride.” The frustration was obvious now. “He’s already starting to feel guilty that he’s abandoning his men. I talked to him just ten minutes ago and he mentioned that like three times in less than five minutes.”

Bucky blew out a breath. “Christ.” He thought a moment. “Is there anything I can do? I mean, I don’t have pull with the military or anything but anything I can do for Steve to convince him getting out of there is the right thing for him to do?”

“I don’t know, Bucky. He’s a stubborn sonofabitch,” Nat answered. “I can’t think of anything off hand other than be a friend.” She paused and then said sounding surprised. “Waitaminute. You know he’s Captain America?”

“He told me in his email,” Bucky told her. “I mean I’m a little stunned but really I just feel kind of stupid. I mean, realistically, how many blond, blue eyed Captain Steve Rogers of that age range are there in the U.S. Army?”

She laughed. “I get it but people see what they want to see. I’m glad you see him as Steve and not Captain America. It means a lot to him.”

“Well, the way I see it now, he’s just this skinny little punk from Brooklyn who made good. Who cares what the public calls him? He’s Steve, end of it.” Bucky didn’t mean to sound mulish but that’s how it came out.

“You’re a good egg, Bucky Barnes,” Nat said with a great deal of warmth. “When we know something about Steve’s situation, you’ll be on the list of people we call.”

“I better be. Take care, Nat. Bring our boy home.”

“You too and you better believe I’m working my tail on that outcome.” She hung up. 

Bucky set the phone down on his desk and stared off into space. He had no doubt Nat had contacts all over the place and could get Steve home eventually with a minimum amount of fuss. But if she found herself stone walled, Bucky had no problem going to the press, with the Avengers okay, and revealing that Captain America, newly defrosted and fresh from World War II, had stepped up and gone to Afghanistan to once again defend his country. Now, damaged from war, his country was refusing to let him seek the peace he’d earned tenfold. If Nat’s wrangling wouldn’t work, maybe public shame would.

Putting it all from his mind for the time being, Bucky settled down and got to work on paperwork for another exhibit that was coming up. History waited for no man. It came rushing at you, whether you were ready for it or not.

* * *

Days passed, with daily emails between Bucky and Steve. Bucky did everything he could to distract Steve from his thoughts, even if it was only in the space of an email. Eventually, Bucky gave Steve his Skype handle and cell phone number, with an admonishment to call whenever, no matter what time it was on America’s East coast.

He was rewarded by a phone call while he sat at his favorite café one Sunday morning. “Hello?” Bucky didn’t recognize the number.

“Is this Bucky Barnes?” asked the very sexy male voice.

“Yes. Who is this?” 

“Steve Rogers.”

Bucky felt his heart leap with excitement. “It’s gotta be 3 o’clock in the morning over there or something!” he exclaimed. “Why are you calling me now?”

“I, uh, don’t sleep much anymore. And besides, it’s only about 8:30 at night right now,” Steve answered, still sounding nervous. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Just my Sunday morning coffee fix,” Bucky hurried to tell him. “How are you? You doing okay? Any word on coming back to the States?”

“That’s what I’m calling you about. I’m getting an honorable discharge. I don’t know how or who to thank at the moment, besides Nat I mean, but I’m not arguing. Some of my unit are coming home too so it doesn’t look too strange.”

Bucky felt a tension he didn’t realize he had release at Steve’s words. “Thank God. That is excellent news. I’ll have Nat keep me posted on when you arrive and I’ll be there with the rest of the Avengers to greet you at the airport.”

“I, uh, wish you wouldn’t.” Now Steve sounded embarrassed. “I’m kind of a mess right now. I know you mean well, but I’d rather meet you when I’m a bit more put together.”

Without thinking Bucky blurted, “But how can I take you on a date if you won’t let me meet you?”

There was a pregnant pause. “You want to date me?” Steve sounded disbelieving.

“Well, yeah. I’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity,” Bucky said indignantly. Then he realized how that sounded and expounded. “Since about the third email between us when we both revealed our sexualities, I’d been thinking about it. Wondering about the feasibility of dating a guy in Afghanistan. Long distance relationships are kind of tricky when you’ve never met.”

Steve gave a huffing laugh. “I wouldn’t know. Peggy Carter was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a relationship and it was kind of hard, both of us involved in the war. Not much time for romance.”

“I promise to sweep you off your feet, wine and dine you,” Bucky told him seriously. “I don’t care that you’re,” and here he lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard by his fellow café patrons, “Captain America. You’re Steve Rogers to me, the toughest guy in Brooklyn. I’d be proud to take you out, don’t you worry about it.”

Steve spoke the next words slowly, like he was measuring them out as he spoke. “Then it’s a date, whenever I get stateside. I’ll have a lot of red tape to get through with the Army. Tony’s got me a place to live at the Tower in Manhattan so at least I won’t be alone. I’ll have my friends.”

“And don’t you worry about anything else. We can handle anything you throw at us, big guy,” Bucky said reassuringly. “Now have you seen Adel and Wasima recently? Tell me about them.”

Thus diverted, Steve told Bucky about Wasima never taking off her princess dresses that Bucky had sent. Adel, Steve had reported, had asked the Army if they would consider relocating his family to America. Lately they’d been getting threats from extremists and the Afghan government was less than helpful in offering protection. Steve’s worry for his friend’s family was evident.

“If I were you,” Bucky advised, “play up that Captain America card. Use it to pull strings. I know you don’t like that, but hey, you got the clout, use it.”

“I could, yes,” Steve said tiredly. “That would probably be best. It’s not safe for them here anymore. It’s well known Adel is friendly with American troops and often acts as a mediator and translator. He’s proud of sending his daughter to school like his son, which gets him a lot of side eyeing. Wasima’s adoration of American culture doesn’t help them much. I’m afraid I haven’t helped with that, giving her all the Disney stuff that you sent.”

“Hey, those extremists would find something to fault one way or the other. It’s how they think.” Bucky was convinced this was true. “Getting them to safety should be what you need to be focused on while the Avengers work on getting you home. You need a project. Make Adel and his family that project." He infused confidence into his tone and was gratified when Steve responded positively.

“You’re right. I need to be doing something to help Adel. He’s been a good friend to me here in Afghanistan. I’d hate that something happened to him after I left.” Steve’s tone turned warm. “I’m glad I called. Thanks, Bucky.”

“You call anytime. I keep my ringer on loud at night so it’ll wake me up. I mean it, Steve, day or night, either time zone, you call me if you need to talk.”

“Deal. I better go. I’ve got a meeting early in the morning with some of the brass. I haven’t been sleeping well so I should at least attempt some sleep, even though it’s early.”

“Take care, Steve, and I’ll think of an amazing date that will rock your world when you get back home.” With that promise Bucky hung up.

With that Bucky immediately called his sister, Becca. “It’s my day to sleep in,” she whined at him.

“I need someplace to take a guy from the 20th century that will knock his block off and distract him from the fact that he was in World War II and just spent five years in Afghanistan.”

There was a pregnant pause and then Becca said slowly, “What?”

“I’ve got a date with Steve Rogers as soon as he gets stateside. You’re always trying to set me up. Start that event planning right now, little sister,” he told her.

“Steve Rogers as in Captain America?” she squeaked.

“The one and the same but you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Uber top secret. I’m not sure I should even be telling you this. There might be snipers on the building across from the coffee shop I’m sitting in.” Bucky was only half-joking.  
“Um, Buck, he’s not going to be one of your fly-by-night dates, you realize?”

“I’m well aware of that. Start thinking and get back to me. We’ll formulate a battle plan of me seducing Steve Rogers.” Without another word he hung up on his befuddled sister. A moment later he got the middle finger emoji from her followed by the peach. He grinned. Becca was on board.

Next, he called Tony. “You do realize it’s Sunday and I sleep in on Sundays?” came Tony’s wide- awake voice.

“I highly doubt you sleep at all unless your body forces you to shut down,” Bucky rejoined. “Tell me what Steve’s apartment at the tower looks like.”

“It’s empty. He hasn’t been in the country long enough to decorate the damned thing,” Tony griped. Obviously this was a sore spot.

“Let me at least pick out the furniture,” Bucky told him. “And I don’t want to hear any complaints about cost.”

Tony snorted. “Did you forget who you’re talking too? Whatever you spend won’t even dent the interest on my art collection portfolio.”

“I plan on dragging Steve to every art gallery in the New York metropolitan area to find stuff that he’ll want to decorate with,” Bucky reported.

Tony seemed to think it over. “I’ll fund that too. Hell, me and Pepper may join you. We love a good art gallery crawl. And you’ll need an army to overcome Steve’s aversion to spending money on himself. He’s still got that Great Depression mentality. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s a double date then. I’ll finally get to meet Pepper. I take it all the Avengers got their invitations to the exhibit’s gala opening?”

“We’ve all RSVPed to be there. Hopefully Steve will be here too by then, barring any complications. He can go as your plus one,” Tony added slyly.

“Assuming he wants to be on display like that so soon after being in a combat zone,” Bucky told the billionaire archly.

“True. Still hope springs delusional.”

“I’m going to bring my VA friend, Sam Wilson, in on Steve’s big secret. I want Sam working with Steve personally. Sam’s well-qualified and he’s done time in Afghanistan too. He’s an old friend of mine and won’t do the whole star-struck thing with Steve like someone else might.” Bucky felt like he was issuing orders, which he was, but he had realized during his week at Avenger’s Tower that’s how you had to handle Tony: be confident in what you were doing, seem knowledgeable and connected and the billionaire rolled over like a puppy for a bone.

“Might have some argument with Nick Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D. about that but hell, we can ignore Nick. I do it all the time.” Tony seemed blithe about the whole situation. “Set it up. Bring this Wilson guy in. I want Steve to get the best care available. Nothing’s too good.”

“I’ll call Sam this afternoon then,” Bucky agreed. “All right, now that we’ve planned Steve’s life for him without his input, I’m going back to my coffee.”

“Coffee,” Tony said worshipfully.

“You are going to bed. I’m betting you’ve been in the same clothes for the last three days, haven’t you?” Bucky accused. The silence was eloquent. “Shower, then bed, Tony.”

“Yes, sir, drill sergeant, sir!” snapped Tony before unceremoniously hanging up.

Bucky smirked as he sipped his coffee. Confident that he’d done all he could for Steve from a café in Washington D.C., he enjoyed his brew.


	8. Chapter 8

The plane touched down at Le Guardia and Steve turned in his seat to look over his shoulder at the family of four sitting in an entire row a couple row seats behind Steve. He gave them a reassuring smile. Adel looked distinctly nervous. Adel’s wife, Esin, was fussing over her two children from across the aisle. Wasima, for her part, looked as excited as her brother, Musa, who was sitting by the window staring out at the airport with wide eyes.

The Army had helped the family pack up essentials to get them through life for a couple weeks until the rest of their precious possessions was shipped to America, care of the military postal complex. Bucky’s idea to use the Captain America card had worked like a charm. A bit too well, actually, since the family was on the same flight as Steve and his own returning unit. There had been a day’s delay in London and Steve accompanied the family into the London metroplex, visiting briefly the British Museum and the Tower of London. The family had been overwhelmed, with Esin often breaking into tears in Steve’s arms.

Steve had warned the Avengers of Adel’s family coming to America but he had the suspicion that the others thought Steve would set up the family and then take a hands-off approach. Like hell, thought Steve fiercely. He was going to stand by Adel and his family and help them acclimate as much as possible. 

He was self-aware enough to realize that he wasn’t exactly the best person to help them, not being really acclimated to current American society himself.

The plane cruised to a stop and the lights indicating that people could start disembarking lit up. Steve went back and helped Adel retrieve their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment before getting his own stuff.

“Captain, are you sure we will be welcome here?” Adel asked in a subdued voice that wouldn’t be overheard by his worried wife.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’m not exactly poor and one of my best friends is a billionaire,” reassured Steve, feeling a pang for volunteering Tony that way. He comforted himself by telling himself that while Tony could occasionally be an elitist asshole, he wasn’t unfeeling. Once Steve explained what this family had been to Steve in Afghanistan, Tony would be eager to help them.

The flight crew helped everyone deplane with generous smiles and reassuring words in both Farsi and English. As they walked down the exit corridor to the airport building, Steve slowed his steps as he realized that he was actually on American soil for the first time in years. He stopped, took a deep breath and felt the tension in his shoulders relax infinitesimally. The tension wasn’t gone, he doubted that would ever happen, but some of it had eased.

They stepped into the building proper and there was an immediate roar of shouting, hooting and hollering off to Steve’s left. He looked and felt his face break into a big smile. There, with signs welcoming him home, were Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, and Pepper Potts. Tony’s sign, typically enough, said “Bout damned time!”

Steve turned to Adel and his family and said in brisk Farsi, “Stay here. I’ll be right back and we’ll get our luggage.”

Adel gave Steve a small smile and turned to reassure his family. Wasima waved enthusiastically at the Avengers as they shouted her name.

Steve walked, no it was more accurate to call it a near run, to his friends where they stood on the other side of the ribbon barrier. “Hey, guys, I told you not to do this.”

“Screw you, Rogers,” Tony said with a grin. “We do what we want. You’re not in charge of us.”

Steve laughed. “I hope you guys don’t mind that I’m dumping Adel and his family on us as well, at least until the government figures out what to do with them.”

Pepper gave Steve a huge smile. “Plenty of room at the Tower,” she told him. “If they don’t mind bunking with your for a couple days while we furnish an empty set of rooms.”

“Adel did the best he could for his family but they were pretty much bottom rung of the ladder in Afghanistan. They’ll be freaked out by the Tower. Hell, I’ll be freaked out by the Tower,” Steve told her.

Tony looked mulish. “I take care of my peeps. Adel, his wife and kids are your peeps, therefore that makes them my peeps. We can evaluate his English and maybe employ him as an interpreter/translator for Stark Industries.”

Steve and Pepper both blinked at Tony’s words, but Nat merely rolled her eyes. “Go,” she ordered. “Get everyone’s luggage, we’ll meet you at the luggage roundel. Tony brought like a million cars to lug everyone across the city.”

More tension drained out of Steve at his friends’ words and acceptance of the situation Steve had made for them.

He hesitated a moment, looking the group over. “No Bucky?” he said with a bit disappointment.

Nat gave Steve a look. “You told him not to come. Don’t worry. You’ll be meeting him this weekend. God knows what your wardrobe looks like. Pepper and I will have to take you shopping for something to wear on your first date.”

“Nat,” he groaned.

“It’s either them or me and Tony,” Clint piped up for the first time, eyes serious but tone teasing. “Personally, knowing how Tony shops and how stingy you are with money, the girls are your best bet.”

Steve privately acknowledged that, rolled his eyes anyway, waved them all off and turned back to Adel and his family.

“Let’s get our luggage,” he told the family of four in Farsi.

Adel glanced at the Avengers, who were converging with the crowd heading towards the luggage area. “Those are your friends who will help us?” he asked.

Steve smiled. “My friend, Tony, owns a big company,” he explained. “He’s interested in using you as an interpreter or translator.”

Adel visibly relaxed. “That is something I can do,” he said with what Steve knew was forced confidence.

“If not, I have no doubt we can find something that speaks to your knowledge and strengths,” Steve told him confidently. “Now let’s get our luggage and get to our new home.”

“Steve,” asked Esin timidly, looking around fearfully. “Where will we live?”

“Tony has offered you a place in his tower,” Steve told her. “It’s a skyscraper that houses his home, his business and his workspace. You’ll stay with me until they can get some rooms furnished for you.”

Adel looked troubled by that but Esin actually looked reassured. “It will be good to stay with someone who knows us, rather than strangers,” she said.

Steve knew that feeling all too well. When he’d woken to the 21st century, everyone was a stranger and it was hard to get a sense of their intent toward him to gain a sense of where he should go and who he should trust. It was only defending New York, and Earth, against Loki’s armies that led him to trust Tony, Nat, Clint, and Bruce, as well as Coulson and Fury.

Steve led the family, following the signs leading them to the luggage carousel. Their battered suitcases, given to them by U.S. servicemen and women, showed up first and Steve effortlessly hauled them out and handed them off. His own two suitcases came a bit later, just as the Avengers showed up, heckling each other.

Pepper approached Adel and his family with a warm smile of welcome. “Forgive me for not speaking your language, but welcome to America,” she greeted.

Adel smiled back and Esin, with a boldness that surprised Steve, stepped forward and took Pepper’s hands. “We thank you,” she said in halting English. Her English was not as good as her husband and children’s.

Bruce and Tony immediately jockeyed for getting the attention of Wasima and Musa. Soon the quiet scientist’s calm and Tony’s quirkiness won over the children and the two Avengers led the children, and the party, to the exit doors of the airport. Nat and Clint took position in the back. Steve felt like he and Adel’s family were getting an Avenger escort.

Once everyone was piled in the three bright red SUVs that Tony had commandeered from the Stark Industries car pool, the drivers tooled their way out of the airport drive lanes and eventually into New York traffic. Steve, in a car with Nat and Clint, relaxed against the leather seats and closed his eyes.

He was home. He was no longer in a war zone. He didn’t have to worry about anything for the next few days, at the minimum. Under Nat and Clint’s watchful gazes, he gaze himself over to a nap, lulled by the movement of the vehicle and the cacophony outside of New York City traffic.

* * *

Despite t-minus it’s-coming—up-why-are-you-taking-a-day-off-Barnes, Bucky took the train after work the Thursday after Steve came back to the States, heading for New York. No one at the Smithsonian was happy he was taking Friday off, but he lied and said it was a family emergency. Despite Penny’s screw up with the exhibit placards, everything was now in place; there was just a little tweaking to be done. He wasn’t really needed except to be someone the higher ups panicked at.

Steve had called the night he’d flown in to tell Bucky he was stateside. Bucky immediately went into planning mode. His sister concurred that, with Steve Rogers having been known to have been an artist, that an art gallery crawl would be ideal. And that they would be accompanied by Steve’s friends Tony and Pepper would probably increase Steve’s comfort.

He’d spoken with Pepper Potts on the phone, having missed meeting her while he was working at the Tower, and discovered that Pepper knew just the galleries to go to that would showcase art that would no doubt appeal to Steve’s tastes. Bucky was reassured that Pepper was as competent in person as she seemed on TV doing press conferences for Stark Industries.

Steve had also dropped the bomb that he’d brought his Afghani friends Adel and his family to the States with him and that they were living with him until either Tony or the U.S. government got the family situated with living arrangements. Knowing the government the way Bucky did, he put his bets on Tony being more efficient.

Once in New York, he headed straight for the subway that would take him to Brooklyn, then a taxi to his parent’s house. It was late when he let himself in with his set of keys but his mother was awake and watching some black and white movie on the television.

“Hey, Ma,” he said, walking into the den area once he realized the TV was on.

“Bucky, honey,” his mother greeted, getting up to hug him. “What’s this about you taking a returning soldier on a date?”

Bucky suppressed a grimace. Damn his sister for gossiping with his mother about him. At least it appeared she didn’t tell Winifred who the soldier was.

“Yeah. Me and some of his friends are taking him to some art galleries tomorrow. He’s an artist,” he told her. “It might only turn out to be a friendship but I’m hopeful of more.”

Winifred gave him a worried, if content smile. “Just remember he’ll likely have a lot of issues, coming out of a war zone.”

“Oh, I’ve been in contact with his friends. I’ve also spoken with Sam, who’s standing by, ready to assist,” he assured his mother, gesturing for her to take her seat again on the couch, while he sat next to her.

She ran her hand through his hair affectionately. “Sounds like you’re prepared then,” she approved.

“It might be less than I think, or worse than I imagine,” he shrugged. “But he’s a great guy and I want to at least be a friend. If it turns into something more eventually, bonus!”

Winifred gave a low laugh. She gestured to the TV, where John Wayne was swaggering across the screen in some western that Bucky didn’t recognize. “I realize the man was a bigoted asshole, but I can’t help but enjoy his acting,” she said conversationally.

“He was a man of his times,” Bucky commented but that felt wrong. Steve was of the same era and didn’t seem to be such a white supremacist moron like John Wayne had turned out to be. There really wasn’t any excuse for it.

“I suppose,” Winifred said thoughtfully, unaware of her son’s train of thought.

“Ma, what do you know of Captain America?” he asked suddenly, his thoughts on Steve.

“Well, not much, most of it is what you’ve told me you’ve learned for the exhibit,” she told him, surprised by the question. “He seems to be too good to be true, honestly. No one’s that self-sacrificing, not without an agenda.”

“You think? That maybe he too was a man of his time and circumstances?” Bucky mused.

Winifred pondered it a moment. “I believe everyone, no matter how they portray themselves outwardly, have a hidden agenda that selfish. It’s just the nature of humanity, to seek rewards for themselves of some sort, to not be lost in shuffle of history, to make a mark. Some succeed, most do not. Most make peace with that after awhile. I don’t know what category Captain America falls in, having never met the man. That he was fundamentally a good man can’t be argued with, but everyone has an agenda in life, Bucky.”

“I suppose,” Bucky conceded. His mother’s words made him realize that since he’d discovered his pen friend was Captain America, his perceptions of Steve had been slowly becoming colored by that knowledge. Steve seemed like the perfect soldier, a man too good to be true. Winifred’s words made Bucky realize that he needed to see Steve as just a man, a flawed human being, not the propaganda that had been spouted since the 1940s.

With that in mind, he leaned over and kissed his mother on her cheek. “Good night, Ma.”

“Good night,” she replied, turning her attention back to The Duke shooting it out with someone in a black hat.

Laying in bed, Bucky turned over the plan in taking Steve out over in his mind. Tony and Pepper would be there. They knew Steve, no doubt better than Bucky did. He would take his queues on how to treat Steve from them so that he didn’t misstep. Despite all the baggage lining up against them, Bucky was coming to realize that he desperately wanted something to spark between he and Steve, that they might work as a couple.

That Steve might be the bad morning breath kisser that Bucky had been waiting for all his life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me. This is still a work in progress and I was unable to work on it much over the weekend, due to family concerns and obligations. I will now post every other night to give me time to catch up. I don't like doing it but I like to be ahead of the posting instead of having my readers wait on me to finish a chapter to post. It's just a quirk of mine. However, I do thank everyone for the alarmingly generous reception to this story. So many kudos and lovely comments! It's most appreciated and it's what makes me determined to finish this despite Steve and Bucky being a pain in my muse. LOL!

The man waiting in the Avengers Tower common room was ten times more gorgeous than he was in photos. Steve was dumbstruck, actually halting his movements once he glimpsed Bucky standing at the island of the open area room, talking with Pepper. Bucky talked with his hands, Steve noted, moving eloquently as he expounded on something he was saying to the red-headed CEO of Stark Industries and the woman who kept Tony in check.

“Steve!” crowed Tony from his spot by the coffee pot. “Are Adel, Esin, Musa and Wasima settled in? Their furniture should be delivered this afternoon.”

Steve’s attention was reluctantly pulled from cataloging Bucky’s features to Tony, who had a knowing smirk. Steve knew his shock at seeing Bucky in person had been noted by Tony, who was observant even when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Bucky turned to the door and his face lit in a welcoming smile. “Hey!” he called, disengaging from Pepper and walking over to Steve. Not sure what to do, Steve manfully stuck out a hand to shake. Bucky grasped it and tugged Steve into a hug. Bucky was shorter than he but it was a comfortable difference in height. “I’m a hugger,” Bucky whispered in his ear. Steve shivered at the sensation of Bucky’s breath on his sensitive ear.

“I’ll remember that,” Steve said breathlessly. When Bucky pulled out of the hug his grey-blue eyes were glinting appreciatively as he looked Steve up and down. Steve appreciated Bucky’s form as well, the casual jeans and t-shirt with a leather jacket ensemble. It was a classic, sexy look and Bucky did it well.

“I hope you’re ready to be wowed by some of the best artists in New York,” Bucky told him with an almost childlike eagerness. Then he looked unaccountably shy. “Did you like the furnishing in your rooms?” he asked.

Steve blinked. He had, actually, and assumed the tasteful, comfortable furniture had been care of Pepper or Nat. “I do,” he confessed. “None of this fancy leather that I’m afraid to sit on and maybe spill a coke on.”

Tony made a noise that was distinctly disgruntled but Steve, and Bucky, ignored him. Bucky grinned. “I picked out sturdy and practical but comfortable,” he said. “And today we’re going to find stuff to hang on your walls.”

Steve belatedly realized this double date had an ulterior motive and shot Tony and Pepper an admonishing look. His two wealthy friends looked unperturbed by his glare. When Steve’s gaze went back to Bucky, Steve’s date looked concerned.

“Is that all right?” Bucky asked quietly, as if sensing he’d upset Steve.

Despite Tony and Pepper’s manipulation, as Steve knew that they would be purchasing everything Steve even showed a remote interest in on the spot, Steve didn’t want to see such anxiousness on Bucky’s face. He forced a smile to reassure Bucky. “No, it’s fine. I was just going to get prints from the various art museums around town but this sounds more fun.”

Bucky relaxed significantly and beamed a smile at Steve, linking his arm through Steve’s possessively and turning to face Pepper and Tony. “Shall we?”

Pepper gave a wide smile, matching by Tony’s own smile, and soon the four of them were walking into Tony’s underground garage. “You do realize,” Tony groused good-naturedly, “I don’t have many four door cars. Tacky, sedans. Such mediocrity.”

Bucky side-eyed Steve and gave a grin that invited Steve to mischief. “Someone grew up privileged,” he singsonged. “Not everyone makes a million dollars an hour.”

“I don’t either,” Tony retorted, sliding into a four-door Audi that was bright red.

Bucky ushered Steve into the car and slid in next to him in the back seat, Pepper up front with Tony driving. Being taken care of so solicitously went a bit against the grain for Steve, even as much as it flattered him. Tony shot out of the parking space, around the lower levels of the buildings garage up to street level, shooting out into Manhattan traffic to head for the first art gallery on Pepper’s list.

Steve decided to take command of the situation before he was manipulated anymore. He leaned over to Bucky to whisper to the other man, “You’re trying too hard.”

Bucky turned his head. “No such thing. I have stiff competition. Wasima is a heart breaker. I gotta up my game to win your affections away from her.”

Steve was surprised by Bucky’s words. “You’ve met Wasima?”

Bucky gave a deep chuckle that shot straight to Steve’s groin and made him shift in his seat. “I made a point of meeting Adel, Esin, Masu and Wasima this morning when I got to the Tower. I needed to pay homage to my own Disney princess.”

Steve hummed at that. Bucky was turning out to be too good to be true. Something was going to go wrong. “While Wasima is fairly adorable,” he admitted, “I’m afraid my heart is still in the ice.”

Bucky gave Steve his full attention and said seriously, “I doubt that, Steve Rogers, it’s probably just in shock. I mean people are showing leg. You’ve never seen that limb before now.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t from Victorian times, Bucky, I know what a woman’s body looks like.”

Bucky smirked and looked back out the window as he retorted, “Who said anything about women’s bodies?”

In a flash Steve pictured Bucky nude in the sumptuous bed Steve had tried to sleep in last night, his long hair fanning across the light blue cotton sheets and his eyes blown wide with passion. Good God, what the hell was wrong with him?

Subsiding into his thoughts, fantasies really, he missed when Pepper asked him a question. “Hmm, what?” He roused himself and focused on the here and now. “I’m sorry, Pepper, what did you say?”

“I said,” Pepper repeated indulgently, “do you have an art style that appeals?”

“Please don’t say Norman Rockwell,” Tony all but whined.

“He was the everyman’s artist,” defended Steve contrarily just to get a huff of disgust from Tony. “I would say impressionists or art deco,” Steve responded more seriously. “Art deco always made me think of opulence. The impressionists always seemed to soothe me. I would like to see some modern art, though, some abstract that I can stare at, see different things each time I look at it. Something that challenges my artist’s eye.”

Pepper nodded. “The first gallery we’re going to might not be what you’re looking for, but it will give you an idea of modern pop art. They are full unconventional mediums. Still something might appeal, now that you’ve been in the 21st century for more than a month. You’ve had a bit of time to immerse yourself.”

Steve fought a squirm. He hadn’t really. He’d buried himself in war, the routine and structure of the Army as a form of escapism. Any modern culture he’d been exposed to came from his fellow soldiers’ interests and conversations. Still, he was game to see if modern art might appeal to him somehow. 

He settled back in the seat and looked out the window on his right, watching the city flash past him in the fits and starts of New York traffic.

He started when Bucky’s right hand threaded with his left and gave a comforting squeeze before just holding loosely. Despite how forward Bucky was being that had Steve’s 1940s instincts jangling to hide, Steve appreciated Bucky’s support and inexplicable affection.

* * *

The fourth gallery into the ‘art gallery crawl’ had Bucky on edge. Nothing had remotely appealed to Steve enough that the supersoldier wanted to buy it and hang it on a wall. What started out so promising, at least to Bucky, was turning into a disappointing disaster. As they walked around looking at various abstract paintings that made no sense whatsoever to Bucky, he was getting disheartened. Steve was withdrawing at each location and it was frustrating Tony, Pepper and Bucky because they couldn’t figure out where they were going wrong.

The foursome turned into a new room with lackluster energy and Bucky wasn’t paying the least attention, wondering if maybe they could salvage the day by hitting the MOMA or the Metropolitan Museum of Art and buy those prints Steve seemed to have had his heart set on. He was so distracted by his thoughts he missed Steve stopping dead until he ran into his date’s military straight back.

“I want that.” Steve’s tone was implacable and Bucky, taken aback, peered around Steve to see what had finally attracted Steve’s attention.

Pepper stepped around them to see properly, her head tipping to one side consideringly. “What do you see, Steve?”

“Normandy just before we hit the beach and shooting began.” Steve’s voice sounded distant and, to Bucky’s horror, pained.

The canvas wasn’t very big, maybe 3 feet by 2 feet, and it did give the impression of a sea shore, with muted light browns and a muddy blue. Slashes in what would be the sky confused Bucky until he recalled pictures he’d seen of Normandy Beach, with the guard towers and barricades the Nazis had erected to ward off the invading Allies.

What Bucky couldn’t understand was why Steve would want something that would continually remind him of such an awful day.

Tony stepped up beside Bucky and gave Bucky a look that clearly said, ‘what the hell’. Bucky shrugged. “Well, Steve, it seems you are now the proud owner of your first piece of modern abstract art,” Tony said with forced cheerfulness, slapping Steve on the back and pulling the supersoldier from his art-induced trance. “I’ll go find the gallery owner and put in our purchase request.”

Pepper and Tony left Bucky alone with Steve. Steve didn’t seem like he could tear his eyes away from the canvas and Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to distract Steve from it. He stood there in silence, looking around awkwardly and it was only when Steve’s whole body began to shake that Bucky realized that something was wrong.

“Steve?” he inquired, putting a hand on Steve’s massively muscled bicep.

Suddenly Steve fell to his knees, great wracking sobs bursting from him. People turned to look in alarm at the giant blond man all but screaming sobs in the silence of the gallery. Bucky fells to his knees, wincing at the pain, and wrapped Steve in his arms, Steve’s body shaking Bucky’s with the force of his weeping.

A woman approached cautiously. “Is he alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“The people that were just in here with us,” Bucky told her. “They went to speak with the gallery owner. Can you get them? He’s a returning soldier. The art, it –“ He stopped, not sure what had happened to describe it to a stranger but apparently he didn’t need to.

She nodded with a knowing air. “Of course. I’ll be right back with your friends.”

Bucky glanced desperately around the room, but people were clearing out, giving Steve and Bucky some privacy, their eyes averted as if what was happening to Steve was something shameful. That made Bucky angry, that an American soldier’s traumatic grief would be seen as a source of public shame.

He held Steve all the tighter, cradling the bigger man and whispering meaningless nothings of reassurance. He was out of his depth here, dealing with a soldier of not one but two major brutal wars. It made Bucky all the more determined to be something to Steve, be it as a friend or eventual lover.

Tony and Pepper were there in a trice, both of them calm and reassuring, helping Bucky bring Steve to his feet. Pepper and Bucky guided Steve from the gallery to the parking garage a bit of a ways down the street while Tony spoke with the gallery owner a moment. Bucky hoped Tony was smoothing over the destruction and not buying the damned painting.

Steve slumped in the back seat of the car, his body radiating trauma, grief, and exhaustion. His ocean blue eyes were staring glassily at nothing. Bucky buckled Steve into the seat and grasped his hand, using his free hand to brush the tears away using a Kleenex Pepper handed him.

The whole drive home, Tony, Pepper and Bucky tried to elicit any reaction from Steve, to no avail. They walked him to his rooms, Tony removing Steve’s shoes once Steve was sitting on the bed in a large bedroom that dwarfed Bucky’s entire living room. They got Steve maneuvered under the covers and closed the door behind them, leaving Steve alone. It grated Bucky to do so but with Steve so unresponsive there was little else to be done.

“I think,” Tony told Bucky with a gravity Bucky hadn’t ever seen on the billionaire’s face, “you should call that buddy of yours at the VA sooner rather than later.”

Bucky dragged a hand down his face and nodded. “I’ll go to my parent’s and call Sam. See what he thinks we should do.”

Pepper shot Steve’s closed bedroom door a worried look. “I think that’s for the best.”


	10. Chapter 10

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes had been high school buddies. Sam had moved from Harlem to Brooklyn when his father needed to move closer to his job. The two had struck up an immediate friendship in home room class and had been joined at the hip until, after graduating, Sam went into the Air Force and Bucky went to NYU. Sam had tutored Bucky in maths and Bucky had helped Sam memorize the crazy chaos that was history dates in American History.

Bucky didn’t think Sam still knew when the Civil War ended.

After Sam got out, he’d bunked on Bucky’s couch for a few months, trying to get his head on straight. When not moping around Bucky’s then cramped apartment, Sam had been in counseling at the Veteran’s Administration. Bucky never asked about Sam’s experience overseas, but he got the gist of that it wasn’t average for an airman. Thus he knew now that Sam was the perfect man to help Steve reintegrate into civilian life.

Saturday morning rolled around and Bucky met Sam at Sam’s favorite breakfast spot. He’d already told the former airman everything that had happened yesterday with Steve and the condition they’d left him in, he, Pepper and Tony. He just hadn’t added that Steve was Captain America. That was a bombshell best delivered in person.

Sam was waiting on Bucky when Bucky arrived and he slid into the booth seat opposite his friend, who was grinning a gap-toothed, charming grin at him. “Well, you surfaced from your fancy life at the Smithsonian to be with the rest of us.”

“Oh please,” pushawed Bucky, waving a dismissive hand. “Fancy. Whatever. I’m usually covered in chemicals and dust half the time. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about it.”

A pretty waitress walked up to the table and both men turned on the charm. She was quickly flustered but took their drink order and set down menus before giving a giggle and going to check on another table, giving them time to peruse the menu.

“Order food first. Then we can talk business,” Sam told Bucky. Bucky nodded.

He looked over the options and decided on a simple breakfast of eggs, hashbrowns, sausage links and a side of pancakes. He set the menu aside, decision made, and looked around. The diner was neat and tidy but unremarkable. It was also filling up fast, with several groups of people standing at the door, looking for empty tables.

“Popular place,” he noted.

Sam chuckled. “The food is down home cooking. Even city people need down home cooking every once in awhile.”

The waitress returned and the two of them gave her their orders. After she’d left, Bucky settled back in his vinyl seat and wondered if he should just launch into his speech.

Sam beat him too it. “Tell me about this guy you met through a pen pal program,” he invited, stirring creamer into his coffee.

Bucky took a deep breath and did, starting from the first letter, Steve’s obvious affection and close relationship with a local Afghani family and seeming isolation from his fellow soldiers and ending with Steve’s letter detailing the death of two of his unit that he seemed to blame himself for.

Sam stared out the window to the foot traffic beyond for a moment. “Bucky,” he said cautiously, “these are typical traumas from men and women returning from Afghanistan. Any counselor could help him, why are you singling me out like it’s this big secret?”

Bucky leaned forward and lowered his voice, “Because he’s also Captain America.”

Sam blinked once, stared at Bucky until undoubtedly his eyes burned, and blinked again. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “So not only has he served in a modern war, he served in one of the bloodiest conflicts of the 20th century. He’s served in two wars and it’s taking its toll on him.”

Sam pursed his full lips in thought, brown eyes narrowing. “So, you are needing people who can maintain his privacy then.” It wasn’t a question but Bucky answered it as if it had been.

“Exactly.”

Sam huffed a breath and sipped his coffee in contemplation for a few minutes. Bucky, having stuck with orange juice, fiddled with his glass. No free refills on orange juice like coffee. Finally, Sam set the mug down with firm resolve and said, “Let me evaluate him. He’ll likely not benefit from anything other than one on one counseling, which is not what I do. I do mostly group counsel. I mean, he’s welcome to come, trauma is trauma no matter the wars involved. I do have some Vietnam vets in my groups and they connect well with the Iraq and Afghanistan vets. I’ve also got a regular who was part of Desert Storm. But I think maybe me finding him a private therapist would be best for everyone and the privacy from public view he’s going to need to heal.”

Bucky let a relieved smile cross his face but it fell away when Sam turned his serious expression directly on Bucky.

“I think you’re emotionally invested in this, aren’t you?” Sam didn’t pull any punches.

“Yes,” Bucky admitted.

“It’s going to be hard on you,” Sam warned. “He’s going to be unpredictable in his behaviors, reacting to triggers only he sees and understands. I’ve got people who jump and freak out when a paper bag blows across their path when out for a walk. Those insurgents and Taliban used everything to cover roadside bombs and landmines. Anything and everything is going to be a potential threat to him. I get the suspicion you want a romantic relationship with him but I’m telling you now you’d best settle for a friendship to start with. He might not be in any condition for anything romantic.”

Hearing those words so bluntly, yet compassionately, spoken confirmed some of the thoughts Bucky’d been having himself. He chewed on those words while their plates were delivered and they began to eat.

“All right,” he conceded as he started on his hashbrowns. “I can do that.”

“Can you?” Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Of course I can!” Bucky ground out, stung by his friend’s doubt.

“I’m not saying you’re going to force him into something he’s not uncomfortable with,” Sam told him in a soothing tone. “I just know you. You fall hard and want to take care of that person, smother them almost sometimes. You always have. I’m telling you, you can’t do that this time. He’s gotta have space.”

“Well, he’s living in Manhattan and I live in Washington D.C.,” Bucky pointed out archly. “Short of one of us living in California, that’s far enough distance, I should think.”

Sam pointed an egg smeared fork at him. “Don’t just drop in on him when you come up to visit me or your family. It might be best if he invited you to visit, that way he feels he’s in control of the situation. Control is going to be his major concern for some time.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. That made perfect sense actually.

“Though him being Captain America explains how he got an Afghan family on the plane with him when he left for the States. It doesn’t quite work like that, moving cooperative families here to save them from retribution,” mused Sam.

“I had to mention that to Steve. He hadn’t thought of it. He sees being Captain America as a millstone around his neck.”

“Well, I can’t say as how I blame him any,” Sam said reasonably, spearing some pancake that was dripping with syrup. “That’s a hell of a legacy that he had no part in building that he now has to live up to, whether he wants to or not.”

“You got that right. Trying to find the facts amongst the garbage legend for the exhibit was research hell,” Bucky agreed.

“You have to wonder if he went back to war to escape it,” Sam mused.

“Or because he thought it would be something familiar in this strange world he woke up to,” Bucky added. Sam nodded his thoughtful agreement.

They finished their meal and Sam swallowed the last dregs of his coffee. “Thanks, Sam,” Bucky said sincerely. Sam raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “For not being all agog about Captain America and seeing him as returning soldier Steve Rogers.”

Sam gave Bucky a wry grin. “Not gonna lie, you threw me for a loop. Government locked down on that tidbit of Cap’s modern life hard.”

“Yeah, and that’s what I find odd. Wouldn’t they have used that knowledge to justify our actions overseas as righteous? I mean, Captain America reenlisted to bring freedom to the Afghani people! Perfect propaganda fodder right there. Front page, would sway the skeptics and confirm the supporters’ opinions on the current war.”

Sam frowned. “One thing I’ve learned,” he advised, “is never try to figure out what goes on in the brains of the brass. That way lays madness.”

Bucky laughed, relaxing the tension he didn’t realize he was holding, and picked up the check. “Since you’ve offered excellent counseling on your day off, I’m buying.”

Sam grinned hugely at him. “Seems fair.”

* * *

Steve woke disoriented. There were no windows in his bedroom so he couldn’t tell what time of day or night it was. His eyes were crusty as if he’d been crying, which was ridiculous. He never cried. Not even when Ma died. Men don’t cry. Clark Gable said so.

He swung his feet out of the blankets and realized his legs were wobbly, as if they were debating not taking his weight and letting him walk. He searched his memory for any sign of what had happened and how he’d gotten back to the Tower, but it was an alarming blank. He remembered getting out of the sedan, Tony babbling about how he’d found some art of some kind at the next gallery they were going to. Steve had been wondering how he could extricate himself from this whole enterprise without hurting anyone’s feelings. Tony, Pepper and Bucky meant well, after all, but Steve’s heart just wasn’t in it. Everything else in his memory was missing.

He exited his bedroom, still in the clothes he’d worn yesterday, and entered the living room/kitchen area. Nat was sitting on the couch, braiding Wasima’s hair as they watched _Frozen_. Both Nat and Wasima were singing along to the songs. Nat glanced at him over her shoulder, expression concerned but inviting and he sat in a chair next to the couch the two females were sitting on.

“Hi, Steve,” Wasima said in perfect, though accented, English.

“Hi, Wasima,” he returned. Looking at Nat, he asked, “What time is it?” He could see out the windows to the sunshine outside.

“Around ten o’clock,” she answered calmly, finishing off Wasima’s braid with a red ribbon that matched the girl’s shirt. “You slept a long time.”

He ran a hand over his face in consternation. “I don’t remember anything. What happened?”

Nat patted Wasima on the head in a surprisingly maternal fashion then stood up. “Come on. I’ll make you some breakfast. Coffee or tea?”

Steve followed Nat to the kitchen area. “Coffee, please.” He watched as Nat bustled to the coffee maker and flipped a switch, turning it on. A moment later it began to drain liquid into the carafe and the pungent smell of strong coffee wafted to him. His stomach growled. 

Nat motioned for him to be seated on a stool at the kitchen island while she pulled food stuffs from the well-stocked refrigerator. Eggs, bacon, and butter emerged. A skillet on the stove was next and he watched silently as Nat worked.

Finally, he could stand the silence no longer. “What happened?” he repeated.

Nat cast him a glance, a wary one that put Steve on alert. “You collapsed, had a panic attack or something like that. You were catatonic. Pepper said she found you in Bucky’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, Bucky desperately trying to soothe you. They got you home and in bed but you were not responsive to any outside stimuli.” Nat put it out there in her typical blunt ‘it is what it is’ fashion and while Steve usually appreciated it, what she said made him feel nauseas.

“I-“ he began but stopped. He didn’t know what to say.

“Bucky’s got a friend who works at the Veteran’s Administration. Apparently, this guy can be discreet. I mean we could get you counseling through S.H.I.E.L.D. but I don’t think you’ll want to pay the price that Fury would tack on such generosity.” Nat cracked some eggs into a bowl and whisked briskly before pouring them into the skillet. 

To deflect, he said, “Shouldn’t you cook the bacon first so you can use the bacon grease with the eggs?”

“I’m not washing your dishes,” Nat dismissed with an unexpected hint of levity. “How I cook your breakfast and the mess I make with it is your problem to clean up, not mine.”

Steve reluctantly chuckled. “Fair enough.” He sobered quickly, his mind turning back to the issue at hand. “Why is Bucky helping me?” he asked almost plaintively, fearfully. “I hardly know him.”

Nat didn’t look at him but he saw her shoulders shrug in answer. “Probably for the same reason all of us wanted to help you straight off. You just inspire that kind of loyalty in people, Steve. He wasn’t the least star struck with us, gave us lip the entire time he was working at the Tower, going through Tony’s dad’s Howling Commando junk for the Smithsonian exhibit. Ordered us around like a drill sergeant, in fact. Even JARVIS didn’t phase him all that much.”

“That’s because JARVIS is awesome, aren’t you, JARVIS?” Steve tried to quip.

JARVIS promptly replied in his stentorian British tones, “I try, Captain Rogers, I try.”

“I mean, if you don’t want a relationship with him, you might lay that out,” advised Nat. “He’s quite taken with you, romantically. He’ll understand that you need to get back on your feet first. He’s not an asshole.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know,” he quibbled. “I mean, he’s attractive as hell and I feel an attraction to him, but maybe you’re right. I need to get myself straightened out first. Catatonic?”

Nat didn’t even bat an eye at the change of topic. “Like an automaton, according to Tony. I realize sometimes our genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist is prone to exaggeration but Pepper is not and she concurred. The Avengers’ resources are confined to S.H.I.E.L.D. so maybe taking Bucky’s offer of aid and getting you set up with the VA is not a bad one. It’ll probably be more private than we think. You might have a few star-struck people, but they’ll get over it soon enough.”

Steve lapsed into thought until a plate of heaping food was set in front of him, along with a giant mug of coffee. Elsa singing “Let It Go” in the living room grounded Steve more than Nat’s presence. He dug in and gave Nat’s cooking the gustatory attention it deserved.

Once finished, he sipped his second cup of coffee thoughtfully. “Okay. I mean, I don’t like it, but if what you are saying is true, that is alarming,” he conceded.

Nat raised an eyebrow at the grudging acquiescence. “I realize men in your day were more macho,” she said archly, “but falling apart from trauma and stress is nothing to be ashamed of.”

That opinion didn’t sit well with Steve but he nodded anyway just to not antagonize his friend.

“I mean it, Steve,” she said sternly. “Get over that ‘grown men don’t cry’ bullshit right now because you’re going to be falling apart on a regular basis and holding on to that old-fashioned, toxic masculinity crap is just going to make your recovery harder and worse to live through.”

Steve scowled at that. Nat rested a comforting hand on his arm. “I don’t mean to be mean,” she told him gently. “But you’ve always appreciated my bluntness so I’m giving it to you straight. I realize you can’t turn off a lifetime of social conditioning just like that,” here she snapped her fingers, “but it’s something to work on.”

Steve sighed and nodded. “I know. Thanks, Nat. For everything.”

“We’re taking Adel and his family clothes shopping this afternoon. Invite Bucky over, clear the air between you now before expectations get raised too much. He’s only here for the weekend and this stuff is best handled face to face, not by phone or email,” Nat advised, sliding his phone over to him. Where she’d pulled it from, Steve had no idea. It was a Nat thing.

Leaving Steve to his thoughts, Nat rejoined Wasima on the couch and continued viewing _Frozen_.

Steve looked down at the phone and saw one missed call and a couple of texts, all from Bucky. The text only read, “We should talk. Let me know when you want to meet. No pressure.”

Taking a deep breath and tamping down the excitement of seeing Bucky again, Steve texted back, “I’m awake now. Nat just fed me breakfast. Come over when you want. You’re right, we need to talk.”

Steve hoped those words weren’t a death knell to whatever was blossoming between he and Bucky.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky raised his hand to knock on Steve’s door at the Tower when JARVIS’ cultured voice said, “Go on in, Mr. Barnes, he’s expecting you.” Nodding mostly to himself, Bucky took a deep breath and entered Steve’s quarters.

His gaze went immediately to the large sectional couch but there was no one there. His eyes then tracked to the kitchen, but it too was empty. Frowning, Bucky stepped deeper into the room and scanned it, looking for a tall, blond man. His ears caught the sound of running water and Bucky realized Steve was in the shower. Mystery solved, Bucky settled himself on one corner of the sofa to wait for Steve to join him.

Struck with something, he said, “Hey JARVIS, when Steve gets out of the shower, let him know that I’m here so I don’t startle him.”

“Certainly, sir, wise precaution. He has been tense all morning,” JARVIS agreed.

Hearing the AI say that made Bucky miserable. His ideas of sweeping Steve off his feet that he’d come up to New York with were looking more and more unwise as the weekend progressed. He used the time he spent waiting for Steve to join him to wonder if he could tamp down his extreme attraction and just be a friend. He’d been struggling with the question since his early breakfast with Sam this morning and still had no answer now anymore than he’d had one then.

Really, it depended on Steve. Steve was the important part of the equation. Bucky would not fuck up Steve’s reintegration for the sake of some probably spectacular mattress tango for anything.

So lost in thought was he, Bucky had no idea how much time had passed before Steve came from the hallway that undoubtedly led to the bedroom and bathroom areas. Hearing Steve’s footsteps slowing to a stop, Bucky turned and gave an awkward wave at the blond giant standing just inside the living room area.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said after a moment. “Thanks for coming.”

Bucky stood up and faced Steve fully. “It’s no problem. You’re a friend, Steve, I want to help.”

Steve seemed to take a giant breath, rubbed a hand down his face and nodded once, curtly. Steve then walked to the couch, came around it and sat at the opposite end of Bucky. He gestured for Bucky to sit and Bucky did so.

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but Steve raised a commanding hand and Bucky snapped his mouth shut. “I want to apologize for yesterday,” Steve began hesitantly.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Bucky interrupted.

Steve looked pensive. “Perhaps, perhaps not. I don’t remember it at all, which alarms me.” He seemed to be afraid to speak further but Bucky waited, sensing something was circling Steve’s mind. “Did I hurt anyone?”

Bucky frowned at the fearful question. “Not at all. You were struck by a painting you saw, it seemed to sink you into a traumatic memory. You fell to your knees, began to shake and cry. Some other gallery patrons went to get Tony and Pepper. We gathered you up, got you to the car, drove back to the Tower, helped you to bed and let you sleep.”

Steve processed that; Bucky could see the wheels all but spinning in Steve’s mind. “I see.”

“Do you?”

Steve frowned at that. “I’m sure that was disconcerting to experience and deal with, for which I apologize.”

“I don’t need an apology for something you couldn’t help feeling, Steve. You did nothing wrong,” Bucky told him firmly. “I’m only glad we were there and you weren’t alone. That’s what scares me the most. What if this happens again and you’re alone, just with strangers who have no idea what’s going on with you?”

Steve continued to frown, not angry with Bucky he could tell, but at something within Steve that he was struggling with.

Bucky took a deep breath. “I have a friend, from high school so I trust him implicitly. He’s also an Afghanistan vet, he’s been there, done that. Came back with his own demons. He works for the Veteran’s Administration as a group counselor –“

“I don’t think I’ll want to talk to others about this,” Steve interrupted stiffly, almost disapprovingly.

“I’m not saying you need to,” Bucky told him earnestly, “but you do need to talk to someone who can help you deal with this in a healthy way. My friend can help you find some one who can help you. You’re a veteran, Steve, you are entitled to benefits from the government for your service. Speak with my friend, let him find you the help you need that you are comfortable with. Maybe not group therapy, at least not right now perhaps, but some professional trained to help you process your years fighting two wars in two different centuries and hopefully make you whole once more.”

Steve tone was wry. “Is there someone qualified to help a veteran of World War II AND Afghanistan?”

Bucky gave a shrug. “It’s all trauma. Yeah, the experiences are different, but the trauma is universal. My friend Sam says he has had World War II vets, Vietnam vets, Gulf War vets mingling with Iraq and Afghanistan vets. They all fought different wars, with different experiences and tactics, but they all had enough things in common that they still bonded and helped each other.”

Silence fell between them while Steve thought about what Bucky said. Bucky fought an urge fidget while Steve sat almost statue-like. Finally, Steve’s body sagged and sank back into the cushions of the cream sofa sectional.

“Tell your friend I’ll be happy to meet with him, one on one, or anyone he can set me up that might help.”

“Do I have your permission to give him your contact information, phone number, email?” Bucky asked calmly.

Steve merely nodded.

“Okay, I’ll call him this afternoon and let him know.” Bucky took a steadying breath and then plunged ahead with what else he was thinking, “I suppose we should talk about us next.”

Steve’s blue eyes side-eyed him warily. “I suppose.”

“I’ll be frank, Steve,” Bucky laid out, “I’m attracted to you, wouldn’t mind seeing where this attraction leads. However, I understand you are likely not at a stage where you can deal with that kind of pressure. And that’s fine. I understand totally and respect it.”

Steve raised his hand in a stop motion again and Bucky stopped talking. Steve seemed to gather his words. “All of what you say is true for me too,” he said haltingly. “I am also attracted to you and perhaps you’re right that this isn’t the right time for me to start a romance. But I’m loathe to lose the friendship we’ve begun.” 

“We can still be friends, Steve,” Bucky interrupted.

Steve gave a wry look. “I know. But even writing letters long distance you made me feel that I wasn’t alone.” He gave a bone-deep sigh. “I’ve been alone in this century since I woke up, Bucky. I have friends that I only know because we fought beside each other, either against aliens or Taliban and terrorists. While I consider Adel and his family friends, they are almost now my dependents while they adjust to American society and figure out how they will integrate into it. You make me feel not alone, if that makes any sense. While friendship is great, I-I-“ Bucky watched as Steve swallowed down some heavy emotion, his own heart breaking. “Sometimes I just want to be held at night, laugh over stupid things like bad morning breath kisses. Things I’ve never had I find recently I’ve wanted more than anything.”

Bucky drew in a sucker punched breath. Bad morning breath. His own thoughts echoed by Steve. If that wasn’t a sign, Bucky didn’t know what else it could be.

“We go slow,” Bucky told him seriously. “I mean, you’ll be in New York, I live in D.C. A long distance relationship is hard in normal circumstances. It might be doubly so for us given the situation.”

Steve gave a genuine, if small, impish smile. “Or it could be perfect. Gives us the distance from the pressures the relationship might put on my trauma, some breathing room. We can grow into the rest as time passes and I heal.”

Bucky thought about it and reluctantly nodded. “Maybe,” he allowed. “So we’re going to give this attraction a shot and hope for the best?”

Steve stood up, walked over the Bucky’s end of the couch, sat down with enough distance that he could lay down and put his head in Bucky’s lap. Automatically, Bucky carded his fingers through Steve’s close-cropped hair comfortingly. “Yes,” the supersoldier said simply.

“All right,” Bucky nodded even though Steve couldn’t see him. “Shall we just watch some television, relax and do absolutely nothing the rest of the day?”

Steve gave a huffing laugh that vibrated Bucky’s legs. “I’d like that.” Steve reached for the TV remote on the coffee table set close to the couch and handed it off to Bucky. “Find something you think is appropriate.”

Bucky turned on the TV and flipped channels until he found a marathon of _Forensic Files_. He knew Steve recognized the show as one Bucky mentioned in letters when the prostrate man murmured, “Perfect.”

Bucky relaxed, continuing to run his fingers comfortingly through Steve’s hair as they watched criminals brought to justice through the wonders of science.

* * *

Steve fell asleep to the drone of the announcer of the forensics show in his ear, Bucky’s fingers carding his hair soothingly. He woke to the clatter of Adel and his family returning from the shopping trip with Nat, Pepper, Bruce and Tony. The family was excited, and loud, and Steve woke tense, thinking the worst immediately before realizing his location and that he wasn’t under threat.

He sat up, blinking at everyone and rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep gunk away. He chanced a glance at Bucky but found the other man grinning widely at the two children who were racing to the couch, Wasima holding an Olaf stuffed toy and Masu a rather large toy replica of the Hulk. Masu was highly intelligent and oftentimes very serious, so seeing him with a toy and a look of childish glee was heartwarming for Steve.

The children began babbling at Steve and Bucky in rapidfire Farsi. Steve caught about every other word and knew Bucky caught none of it, but both adults dutifully made the appropriate noises of appreciation as the toys were shown off.

Adel followed his children at a more sedate pace, his expression more solemn. “Are you well?” he asked Steve solicitously.

Steve gave a smile more confident than he felt. “I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I take it the shopping was a success?” he diverted.

Adel darted a look at the Americans sorting out bags and handing them to Adel’s wife, Esin, to put in the appropriate rooms. “Mr. Stark is very generous,” Adel said but Steve could sense the man’s discomfort.

“Mr. Stark doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘moderation’, Adel,” Steve said with what he hoped was a more sincere smile. “You get used it. He does understand if you tell him enough. He might frown and pout like a four-year old child, but he’ll stop smothering you if you tell him too.”

Adel nodded at that. “I would only let him buy what was needed, clothes appropriate for the weather but I couldn’t say no when my children wanted the toys. I have never been able to give them the things all children need to be children.”

Bucky piped up. “I haven’t known Mr. Stark long but I assure you if you aren’t careful, he’ll spoil your children rotten if you aren’t careful.”

Adel cracked a smile. “Yes, I received that impression.” He went to say something else but was distracted by his wife calling to him. He gave Steve and Bucky a nod and small smile before going to see what his wife wanted.

Bucky turned to look at Steve. “Better?”

“How long did I sleep?” Steve wondered aloud.

“About three hours. It’s okay,” Bucky hastened to say when Steve was horrified and probably looked it. “ _Forensic Files_ marathons can last all afternoon. I mean, I’m sure I’ve seen all of them about at least four times but it’s okay. It’s always interesting.”

Pepper called out, “We’re going to introduce Adel and his family to Japanese. You two need to figure out what you want too. We’re having it delivered.”

Steve looked at Bucky, who looked bemused. The other man pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. Bucky frowned. “I can’t,” he called out to the room. “If I don’t eat with my family before I leave for D.C. tomorrow, my sister will murder me so mysteriously even _Forensic Files_ won’t be able to air it as solved.”

There was a chorus of boos from the assembly. Bucky turned his attention to Steve and placed a gentle hand on Steve’s cheek, caressing softly. “I’ll call Sam tonight and give him your contact info. My train back to D.C. leaves at like 8 a.m. Shoot me a text or email when you wake up in the morning, let me know if you slept okay?”

Steve licked his lips and impulsively leaned in a pecked a soft kiss on Bucky’s lips, finding them soft and pliable. “I can do that,” he agreed. He noted the silence in the room and glanced over to where everyone was staring openly at them, a lot of smug smiles on faces. “Shut up,” he told their audience amiably.

There was a lot of hooting and hollering, which confused the children who had missed the adult by-play, and Steve was relieved that Adel and Esin were grinning hugely as well. He wasn’t sure if there might be a religious and cultural problem arising with them and Steve’s sexuality. But from the wide smile on Adel’s face, apparently not. A knot Steve hadn’t realized was there eased and he felt now more than ever that he’d made the right decision in his talk with Bucky earlier. 

He didn’t know why but he was sure that Bucky was the key to his regaining his health and sanity.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky,

I received the invitation to the opening of the exhibit and have RSVPed. I’m a bit skeptical I’ll be able to handle any media or photographers at the event, however. Is there any way I can be brought in somehow that isn’t the front door, mingle with who I need to and leave when it gets to be too much? Nat and Tony’s friend, Rhodey, had a long talk with me about how hectic it might be, so I’m trying to be proactive.

I have an appointment with your friend, Sam, tomorrow at the VA. I’m still hesitant but everyone’s so pleased that I’m taking this step that I figure it can’t be a wrong one. I’ll let you know how it goes, as I doubt your friend will tell you anything if there’s some sort of confidentiality to the conversation.

Tony bought the painting that caught my attention at the gallery I collapsed in. It’s in my closet right now. I’m not sure I want to hang it up. Tony says it’ll be therapeutic but I’m going to ask your friend about if I should hang it up or not. I don’t know. I mean, it’s art and it’s supposed to invoke feelings and such but mine was so extreme and dramatic, I’m not sure I want the thing. I don’t want to hurt Tony’s feelings though, either. What do you think? Should I hang it up and confront the feelings it invokes?

Adel, Esin, Masu and Wasima are doing well. Adel is speaking with someone at Stark Industries about a translation job, I think translating user manuals to Farsi and Persian from English. It didn’t sit well, Tony buying his family clothes and toys, living in this fancy tower with all the luxuries money can buy. Adel is smart enough to know that his family has it good right now, despite his pride, and they are so happy, so he’s putting on a brave face and accepting what he sees as charity. I’ve tried to tell Adel it’s not charity, that I’ve told Tony and my friends about his family so much they feel like they are friends too, but I don’t think Adel believes me. I’m not sure how to help Adel get past that. Especially since I feel the same way when Tony goes and spends a lot of money on me.

You have a name in Adel’s family. I can’t spell it but it translates to “Princess Maker”. You and Nat are rapidly becoming Wasima’s favorite people. I’d be hurt at being thrown over so easily but she’s just so cute I can’t be. Masu is fascinated by Bruce, follows him around, asking questions. Bruce knows a little Farsi from his travels so they communicate pretty well, with Masu knowing some English. Bruce even lets Masu help in the labs.

Esin has always been quiet and reserved. I don’t think she’s shy or put down or anything. She’s just a contemplative person. She thinks before she speaks. My mother would call her an old soul. I know Adel is her second husband but the particulars of her life before Adel I don’t know. I don’t think it was happy, though. She’s been fitted into the cooking rotation and her meals are delicious. Nat, surprisingly, is a picky eater but she eats everything Esin puts in front of her. Clint and Bruce will eat anything. Tony probably doesn’t taste what he wolfs down. Pepper and I try to show proper appreciation for Esin’s cooking, give her some reassurance.

All in all, I think the family’s adjusting little by little to not being in Afghanistan and in America.

I don’t have much else to say so I’ll send this and wait for a reply.

Looking forward to seeing you in a couple weeks at the exhibit opening.

Steve

Steve,

Hey, punk. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday. Our restoration lab is in one of the basement levels and one of the water pipes burst. Water everywhere. Nothing damaged, not too bad water damage to the place and the artifacts were all put in storage or already in the exhibit so no worries there. Still, it was a hot mess that I had to deal with all day.  
We’ve only got a couple of interns left for the season and I spent the evening writing up references and reports on their work, since most are college students. Technically that Eric’s job, my boss, but a boss’ prerogative is to delegate and he delegated that task to me. Such a glamorous life I lead! LOL

As for Sam telling me anything, fat chance. He’s big on privacy and confidentiality. If I asked all I’d get is a disapproving look and a stern “You know I can’t talk about that”. So, I’ll have to get all the juicy details from you. He’s a good guy, though, you can trust him. I do, and have since I was a snot-nosed teenager.

I’ll speak with Eric about getting you into the exhibit by some other means than the gauntlet. I mean, it’s not going to be a red carpet setup like a movie premiere but there will be some high profile people attending so there will likely be some paparazzi. There shouldn’t be a problem sneaking you in by other means, so don’t worry about it.

I’m actually kind of nervous to have you viewing the exhibit. I mean, this is your life we’re displaying. I do expect you to correct us if something is wrong. I pride myself on my research and details, so if something is wrong I want to know about it. Museums are an educational institution after all. If we give misleading facts, we’re teaching the wrong thing.

Princess Maker, huh? Sounds better than my working title. So I’ll be like the Earl of Warwick back in the 15th century, “The Kingmaker” but I make princesses instead? Maybe I should be like a fairy godmother and carry a wand around and just randomly make little girls princesses? LOL!

As for Adel and his family, I’m glad they-re adjusting okay, or at least as well as possible, considering the differences between their old and current circumstances. I think you’re on the right track with your thinking. Adel just needs to be productive, feel like he’s earning his keep and not living on the charity of strangers. Pride is a hard thing to reconcile with when you see your family doing well through means that have nothing to do with your actions. I’m glad for the four of them that you’re so well connected. Just from what I’ve read in news articles, not many of our allies in war zones overseas are so lucky. Most are just left to fend for themselves once American troops leave.

Tony texted me that he’s got hotel rooms for everyone the weekend all of you are here for the exhibit opening. Can I take you out that weekend? We can sight see, just lounge on my couch and watch movies, sitting at my coffee house and people watch, whatever you want to do. I just want to spend time with you. No pressure, just companionship. Think on it, we can discuss plans later.

Okay I hear my two interns bumbling around in the hallway outside. I’m at work a little earlier than usual. It feels like I opened the museum up on my own, I was so early. I just wanted to get my reports filed and sent before the day started.

You’re doing great. I have faith in you.

Bucky

Steve,

Quick note: you have to wear a tux for the exhibit. So, you know, you might get one. Knowing Tony even slightly like I do, I suggest asking Nat or Pepper for assistance.

I’ll bet you’ll look sexy as hell in one. Imagining that is what’s keeping me sane right now.

Bucky

Bucky,

Pepper is one step ahead of you regarding the tux. I have two now. A traditional black and white and this dark blue one that I think I’m going to wear to the opening.  
Adel starts his job today. He’s determined to do well, not disappoint Tony’s faith in him. Adel did ask if they were invited to the exhibit. They are coming with us but we’re going to take them to the exhibit later in the weekend, since they didn’t receive a formal invitation to the opening Friday night. Adel saw my tuxedoes, his face drained of color, and said he was glad he wasn’t going when we were going. He said he didn’t think he could wear a tux without feeling like a fraud. I know the feeling all too well. Back in the 30s, the cost of those two tuxedoes could have set me up very well for several years and still have money left over.

As for being offended by the exhibit, I highly doubt it, but I’ll be glad to correct anything that’s wrong. When I first came back, I read a couple biographies on me. They got a lot wrong. I know they meant well, but they made a lot of assumptions on very little information. I mean, I was a nobody from a slum of New York. There was no reason that anyone should have noted me on the street, sickly, frail and small as I was. It’s not like writing on a king or aristocrat in history, where they have archives full of their correspondence, journals, charters and government papers. I didn’t even rate a mention in the paper for anything. Most of the people who would have known me as a child or young adult are dead now. Once I became Captain America, I never went back to the old neighborhood, traveling first with the USO and then straight to the front lines in Europe. Anyone who could be interviewed or would have written about me was when I was “Captain America”, which was more a government persona than my own self.

I had my appointment with Sam. He’s very…calming? I felt very relaxed in his company. He gave me a couple names of therapists, told me that sometimes you don’t click with a therapist and have to shop around to find the right one, so to speak. He said that if I don’t get along with one, it’s nothing on them or me, I just need to find one I feel comfortable with. He invited me to his group therapy but seemed to understand when I said I wasn’t ready.

The problem is, I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, it’s a good idea, to be among those who understand. Bruce has been teaching me to meditate and I sat the other day and thought about why I don’t want to go to group therapy. I think it’s because I’m Captain America. There’s so much to Captain America in the 21st century. I’m still afraid everyone will see the legend and not the man behind it. That I won’t get a fair reaction from my fellow vets. I’m supposed to be this invincible, steadfast and stalwart figure, without flaws or problems. If I come forward with the same issues as them, I’m afraid of the reaction. Tony told me I’m being stupid. Tony is Tony, though. He does what he wants, to hell with the consequences. He’ll fix them later. Even Nat is a little like Tony in that respect. But they don’t have Captain America hanging over their necks like a Sword of Damocles.

Something to talk about with a therapist, I suppose.

As for getting together this weekend, I’d like that very much. I’m eager to see you, spend time with you. We can maybe do a little bit of everything? Maybe you can take me to the Virginia hangar to see the space shuttle? Is it far? I’ve seen the launches on the NASA You Tube channel but I’d like to see one of the shuttles in person. It still blows my mind that we’ve been to space, not once but many times. Been to the moon, sent unmanned machines to Mars, and people live in a space station orbiting Earth. Just like the science fiction books I read at the library when I was a kid. Blows my mind every time I think about it. Maybe we can take Adel and his family. I mean I know it’s supposed to be our time but I’ll bet Masu would be overjoyed at the experience. I can’t help but want to help them acclimate to the American life they now live.

I think I’ve babble enough at you. I’ll see you Friday night at the Smithsonian. Send me info on where I should come in to avoid the photographers and stuff.

Steve


	13. Chapter 13

Steve tugged on the jacket of his dark blue tuxedo. Nat was fussing with his bow tie. Clint was already at the door, peering into the hallway where Bucky was supposed to come and collect Steve and the Avengers, plus Pepper.

“I hope he hurries up. Is there supposed to be food?” Clint asked for what seemed like the tenth time.

Nat ignored Clint’s whining, tweaked Steve’s tie one last time, patted his lapel and stepped back to survey his appearance. “If you don’t make him start drooling as soon as he sees you, I’m going to worry there’s something seriously wrong with the man.”

Steve flushed. “Nat!” he admonished in embarrassment.

“I’d do you, Steve,” Tony told him as he walked by, heading for the door as well.

“I heard that,” Pepper said mildly. Tony flashed her a grin and she rolled her eyes.

“We can make it a threesome!” Tony chortled. He peered out the door, shoving Clint aside. “I hear footsteps,” he reported.

Steve swallowed nervously and fought a fidget. The Avengers, plus Pepper and Adel’s family, had flown from New York on one of Tony’s private planes. Adel spent the trip studying the material he was supposed to translate and asking Bruce and Tony to explain something mechanical to him so he could translate it properly. Tony, typically, tried to lure the Afghani man into relaxing but Bruce understood that Adel was trying to be productive and earn the generosity that had been shown him and his family. With typical Bruce cleverness, he got Tony to sit with them and soon the two American scientists were explaining everything to Adel.

That left the rest of the Avengers to occupy Esin, Masu and Wasima. Esin stared wide-eyed out the window for some time before she was coaxed into practicing her English with Pepper. Nat and Clint taught Masu and Wasima some board games by the name of Operation, that buzzed when you pulled out the wrong body part on the board, and then some tic-tac-toe game called Connect Four. Steve watched, amused, as the children quickly caught onto the games and thoroughly trounced their elite assassin/spy opponents.

He spent the time daydreaming, mostly about Bucky and how the weekend would go. He had every intention of either spending at least one night with Bucky, either at Bucky’s place or Steve’s hotel room. He didn’t think he was ready for sex but he wanted to know how he and Bucky fit together in bed. Was Bucky big spoon or little spoon? Was Bucky what Clint called an octopus in bed? Did Bucky drool on the pillow? Did he snore? So much Steve wanted to know and was eager to discover.

Sam had gotten Steve an appointment with a therapist this morning. Her name was Lindsey and she didn’t bat an eyelash when he entered her very tranquil office and introduced himself as Steve Rogers, Captain America. She hadn’t asked a bunch of intrusive questions, which was what Steve was expecting. She asked about his experiences and how he’d felt since coming back. What his hobbies were, the people in his life that were supports. She’d allotted him two hours, though he understood the sessions were usually an hour. He confirmed he wasn’t on any medication and that they probably wouldn’t work on him due to his metabolism. She merely nodded as if it were a commonplace problem to have. The only time he felt uncomfortable was when she bluntly asked him if he’d had any suicidal thoughts or actions.

He hadn’t been sure how to answer that but he explained that his friend, Natasha, thought that perhaps his crashing the Valkyrie into the Artic was an attempt at suicide. Lindsey had made a little note, nodded and asked him what was his favorite food. It wasn’t until he’d left and Tony’s security cum man of all jobs, Happy, drove him back to the Tower that Steve realized she’d interspersed little questions gauging him in with the innocuous questions like his hobbies and favorite activities. It was shrewd, unobstrusive, and designed not to stress him out, make him uncomfortable with her or with the idea of therapy. Deciding she was quite wise, Steve told his friends that his therapy went well and he’d be seeing Lindsey at least once a week for awhile.

Steve couldn’t wait to tell Bucky how his first therapy visit had gone. He knew that he had his generation’s dislike of talking about troubling things, opting instead to bury it. Steve had been in the 21st century long enough to know that was considered unhealthy, and in truth, he’d seen the damage such an approach took from veterans of the Great War growing up. But it was how he was raised. A man didn’t show pain. A man didn’t show upset. He sucked it up. He held the world together. But the world wasn’t like that anymore. It was an equal division of labor. Women were more than capable of running the world without the interference of men. Being raised by a single mother, Steve had more respect for women and their abilities than many had in his generation. Being around Peggy Carter during the war reinforced the idea in Steve’s head that women were usually far more capable than men. Now with Nat and Pepper in his life, he knew it was more than likely truer than he’d previously thought.

Lindsey seemed like just what Steve needed to find triggers to his trauma, work through them, heal and once again become a productive member of civilian society.

The footsteps grew louder, drawing Steve from his deep reverie. A young woman entered, a big smile on her face. “Hi, everyone!” she greeted cheerfully. “My name is Carrie Fischer. No relation to Princess Leia. Bucky’s right behind me somewhere. I walk faster than he does.”

From somewhere outside in the hallway, Steve heard Bucky reply, “It isn’t a race, you know. I walk with the dignity and calm, not run around like a kindergartener at recess.” Bucky stepped through the door and Steve audibly gulped.

Bucky looked good enough to eat. His long hair was pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck. His grey striped tuxedo fit him like a glove and brought out the blue in his grey/blue eyes. There was just a hint of sexy scruff on his face, like he hadn’t shaved today. A dark grey tie graced his throat in a traditional Windsor knot.

Bucky looked around the room, smiling at everyone until his gaze rested on Steve. Steve stood up a bit straighter and was pleased when Bucky’s smile broadened and his gaze flicked down Steve’s body appreciatively. “How is everyone?” Bucky asked, but his gaze was directed on Steve.

“We’re great. Is there food? I’m starving. I only had one helping of dinner,” Clint said, rudely shoving by Bucky and out the door. “Which way we going?” Clint asked from out in the hallway.

Nat rolled her eyes, gave Bucky a smile and said, “We’re fine. Why don’t you and Carrie lead the way?”

Bucky tore his gaze from Steve and focused on Nat, his smile widening and stepped aside for Carrie to take point. Everyone else filed past as well, with Steve bringing up the rear with Bucky.

“You look good enough to eat,” Bucky told him in a low, flirtatious tone.

“I think that’s what Pepper wanted,” Steve told him honestly. “You look fantastic too.”

Bucky gave an acknowledging nod, his shoulder brushing Steve’s in an almost intimate manner. “Just for your piece of mind, there are reporters but not many photographers. I mean, we can’t stop some overeager twip with a cellphone but flashes shouldn’t be going off in your face.”

A tension Steve hadn’t been aware released at Bucky’s words. “Thanks,” he said heartfeltly.

“My boss, Eric, said he’d die before you were discomfited at your own exhibit. We both had meetings with the Board of Directors on the matter. I finally had to tell them that if they insisted on paparazzi at the exhibit opening they wouldn’t get Captain America or the Avengers.” Bucky flashed Steve a mischievous grin. “They quickly gave in.”

Steve swallowed. “No pressure?”

Bucky frowned as if realizing what he’d said and it could be interpreted. “I mean, you’ll have to rub shoulders with Congressmen and women, the occasional historian starstruck and staring at you. However, I graciously agreed to play bodyguard so that you aren’t unduly bothered, as the Smithsonian understands that this might be discomfiting for you to see your life on display almost clinically.”

“Took the bullet, did you?” Steve asked, amused by Bucky’s word choice.

Bucky snickered. “I pretty much told everyone that the Avengers would expect my presence among them, having built a report with them. That I’ve been working with you closely regarding the exhibit and that I should be on hand should you find things you want corrected.”

“So, you are now the Smithsonian’s Avengers liaison?” Steve thought that hilarious, the way Bucky worked it out.

“Well, I mean, who are they to argue when Tony Stark tweeted on his Twitter account that he was looking forward to seeing his loaned items and how well the Smithsonian has chosen to display them. That he was looking forward to once more meeting with Artifact Restoration Technician James Barnes at the Captain America exhibit.”

Steve let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t know how he does it, but Tony just knows when bureaucracy needs to be bludgeoned or finessed.”

“One of the Board of Directors saw the tweet, panicked and called me and all but ordered to me to work with you and the Avengers. I think he thought that if there was hell to catch, it would focus on me and I could potentially be expendable,” Bucky shrugged. “Little does he know that none of you would do that to me. You would just draw me aside, tell me what’s wrong and go your merry way. Not create a scene and a tantrum like some spoiled celebrity.”

“I’d like to think we have more tact than that,” Steve agreed. “But I’ve learned not to predict any of the Avengers.”

“I’m more worried about you,” Bucky confessed as they caught up to everyone waiting at the bank of elevators.

Steve opened his mouth to assure Bucky he was doing fine when the elevator dinged and everyone crammed aboard. It was a tight fit. The chatter turned to grilling Carrie on her internship, what Bucky was like as a boss, which led to ribbing of Bucky. Steve felt relaxed and joined in the teasing, delighting with Bucky’s exasperation and rejoinders.

The elevator door opened to a corridor with a few people in evening dress milling about. In front of them, Steve could see a giant mural of him saluting the flag. Whoever the artist was, they were good, Steve conceded, even if the reverence of the scene made him squirm. He started when he felt an arm slip into the crook of his elbow. He glanced to his right and saw Bucky smiling encouragingly, his grey/blue eyes seeming to say “I’m with you. We got this.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve nodded to himself and began walking with Bucky beside him into the most prestigious museum in country’s homage to his life.

* * *

Bucky knew he wasn’t the only one with eyes on Steve, keeping an eye out for another possible traumatic breakdown. It never came. Steve wandered the exhibit, reading every informational placard, regaling Bucky and whatever Avenger that was with them with an amusing memory about an artifact, or giving a bit of background behind what prompted a picture to be taken of his Howling Commandos squad that they were viewing.

They stood in front of the motorcycle for some time, Steve laughingly telling Bucky and a couple that was viewing it with them about learning to drive, a skill he’d never learned being poor in Brooklyn and unable to afford a vehicle of any type. Apparently, Steve learned by crashing motorcycle after motorcycle into trees, jeeps, and once the shower tent that had full occupancy at the time. Bucky and the couple laughed at the vision of a sheepish Steve apologizing to a bunch of naked and wet soldiers who were trying to cover their modesty with whatever debris from the tent they could grab.

Pepper was with Steve and Bucky when they approached the uniform exhibit. Mannequins were clothed in the individual uniforms of the Howling Commandos. As Steve’s special and elite squad, they had not worn a uniform per se, but tactical gear that enhanced their performance and occupation on Steve’s team. Steve grew quiet, just studying the uniforms for a long time. Bucky and Pepper shared a concerned look but didn’t interrupt the contemplation the supersoldier sunk himself into.

Finally Steve spoke. “I think Dernier’s cap was a different shade of red. More mulberry than scarlet. But if all you had to go on was the few pictures of us there are, the Smithsonian did a good job.”

“We had the SSR’s notes on the making of the uniforms too,” Bucky told him. “But since there was nothing in color, all we could do was make an educated guess on the types of dyes available and the fabrics most commonly used for tactical gear.”

Steve nodded and turned to Bucky with a wry smile. “They’d be pleased to be represented as a part of my life. I mean, in the scheme of things, I was but a small part of their entire lives, as they all lived long and full lives after the war. But considering the war was only just a few years ago for me, they still loom large in my life even now. It makes me feel good to see them honored here, not a second thought or a footnote but major players in my life.”

Bucky gave a small smile. “I hoped you would feel that way. That it wouldn’t bring back painful memories, but good ones.”

Steve pulled Bucky to him in a light, comforting hug. “I’d say mission accomplished then.”

Bucky let out a breath of relief. “So now that you’ve seen everything, anything we need to correct that is glaringly wrong?”

Steve’s gaze turned inward as he reviewed everything he’d seen tonight. “I wish there was more on my father, but honestly, even Ma and I didn’t have much of him to keep a place for him in our lives. His memory was what inspired me to enlist over and over, why I wanted in the Army specifically. He was my hero, my personal Achilles. Being so small and sickly, I knew I never would live to the ideal that he was in my mind, but I wanted to so badly.”

Bucky felt Steve’s sorrow almost as if it were his own. “That’s why you volunteered for such a dangerous experiment that had the potential to kill you?” he asked softly so no one crowding around them could hear him.

Steve seemed to come back to himself at the question and gave a small shrug. “In part, I suppose. I was so obsessed with joining the war that the how didn’t matter. The inherent danger didn’t matter. It was a shot at what I wanted that no one else was willing to give me, so I took it without thinking too much of the consequences.”

Bucky frowned at that. “You know,” he said as casually as possible, “That could be construed as potential suicidal behavior.”

Steve gave him a startled look, frowned, and then tilted his head to the side as he considered Bucky’s words. “Yes,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, “I suppose so. I might bring it up with my therapist next week.”

“Can’t hurt,” Bucky told him. “I mean, I could be way off base too. I’m no therapist. She may say ‘ignore him, he’s an idiot’.”

Steve cracked a grin, his mood lightening a bit. “You’re no idiot, Buck. Now is there food at the shindig? I’m getting a little hungry and thirsty.”

Bucky laughed, grabbed Steve by the hand and led him to the room set aside for refreshments. All Bucky’s worries about Steve’s reactions to the exhibit had been for naught. Not only had Steve viewed the exhibit as the honor it was intended, he’d found nothing glaringly wrong with Bucky and his team of interns’ research. Nothing had triggered a traumatic flashback.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a great start to the weekend. Bucky only hoped the momentum stayed the same for the rest of the time Steve spent in Washington D.C.


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky had the weekend off, which he took blatant advantage of. His little two door coup wasn’t big enough for he, Steve, and Adel’s family so Bucky put a flea in Pepper’s ear that he needed to rent a bigger vehicle for a trip to the Smithsonian’s Virginia hangar and one was delivered to his door promptly at 8 a.m. Saturday morning. He drove it to the hotel, loaded everyone inside and headed south.

Masu and Wasima were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager for the adventure. Esin was her usual unflappable self but she asked quiet questions about where they were going. Adel and Steve talked about how much technology had developed over the years from Steve’s point of view. Before anyone could blink, Bucky was pulling into the museum’s parking lot. Everyone tumbled out and Bucky flashed his employee badge at the reception desk, which guaranteed his company would be allowed behind the scenes access.

Bucky didn’t know who was more awestruck in the group as they viewed the giant space shuttle, Discovery. It was huge, Bucky conceded. It looked impressive on TV or YouTube but the distance that was maintained from it during launches and landings made it hard to gauge just how big it was until you were standing underneath it.

Masu and Wasima were properly cowed by the Discovery, whispering almost reverently for information to the questions bouncing around in their little skulls. Esin’s brown eyes were wide and round as she craned her neck up to look at the underbelly of the space craft that showed hints of the atmosphere burns it was subjected to for so many years.

“It is amazing,” Adel said in an awed tone.

“Yeah, sometimes us Americans even amaze ourselves. Usually, we’re a bunch of goons, but sometimes we do something great,” Bucky agreed.

Steve chuckled at that. “I never imagined,” he began and then halted, as if unsure what to say.

“Gives those YouTube videos some perspective, am I right?”

Steve nodded. The group moved on, viewing other pieces housed at the hangar, Bucky and Steve translating as best they could for the Afghani family. Bucky gathered all the brochures and informational material available and obligingly took photos of Steve, Adel, Esin, Masu and Wasima at various points around the museum.

As they trooped back to the rental car, Steve turned to Bucky with a wide, childlike smile. “That was great!” he enthused.

“There’s a museum in Kansas, the Cosmosphere, that has some of the early space exploration equipment on display. Some of the Russian stuff too, that was gifted to the museum. I mean, Kansas, a bit out of our way, but hey, we fly to one of the nearby cities and road trip!” Bucky told him with a grin, hoping to see that childlike wonder on Steve’s face a bit longer.

Steve laughed. “Kansas? Why Kansas?”

“Not sure the history of it. I think it started as just a little planetarium. Space was popular in the 1960s with all Americans. It just grew from there. Now the Cosmosphere is an affiliate museum with the Smithsonian. They’ve got a lot of great stuff. One of my interns from last year was from that area, talked about it a lot,” Bucky explained.

“We’ll have to plan something,” Steve agreed.

Once everyone was in the vehicle, it was decided food was in order and Bucky headed into Chantilly, Virginia proper. While about 25 miles from Washington D.C. it wasn’t a large city by any means. Bucky swung through a McDonald’s drive thru, bought everyone the food of their choice, and headed for a nearby park as directed by the helpful drive-thru worker.

They ate at a wooden bench and table and then allowed Masu and Wasima to play on the playground equipment. Watching the two youngsters scream and shout joyfully as they swung, climbed the playground fort, and slid down slides, the four adults sat and chatted about this and that, just enjoying the unseasonably warm day in late March.

Once the two children had thoroughly exhausted themselves in play, everyone loaded back into the rental car and Bucky headed north for D.C. The ride was quiet but not uncomfortably so. Bucky kept sneaking looks at Steve, who was watching the scenery flash by with an open and relaxed expression on his handsome face.

While Bucky wished he’d been spending time with just Steve, he had to admit taking Adel and his family had been equally fulfilling. Steve had also agreed last night before leaving the museum that he would stay the night with Bucky tonight. Bucky had plans. Lots of plans. He hoped Steve had plans too.

Bucky hoped those plans were compatible. He had a feeling they would be.

* * *

The Uber dropped Steve off at Bucky’s apartment building and he rung the buzzer that let Bucky know someone was downstairs for him. “Hey, Steve, all doors are unlocked. Come on up,” Bucky’s voice on the intercom said immediately. Steve opened the building’s door and headed for the stairwell. He went up three flights and stepped into the hallway. He went straight to the door label 309 but hesitated in opening the door without knocking. ‘Bucky’s expecting me’, he reasoned and opened the door.

His first view of Bucky’s apartment was a living room area. A three-seater couch, dark blue, took up the bulk of the space, along with a coffee table in front of it. A huge television hung on the wall in front of the sofa, with a low cabinet holding movies and gaming equipment Steve recognized from Tony’s own collection of electronics.

He swung his gaze around, trying to locate Bucky. A kitchen island separated the living room from the little galley kitchen. Unlike the marble and stainless steel of Steve’s apartment at the Tower, Bucky’s kitchen was peeling formica and older model appliances. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ reasoned Steve, ‘that Bucky can’t afford a fancy condo.’ There was no Bucky in the kitchen however. Curious, Steve stepped in further into the apartment.

There was a hallway off to his left and as he turned to look that way, Bucky came from a doorway down it, smiling hugely. He was dressed in what looked like polar fleece pants, a NYU hoodie and bare feet. Steve felt overdressed in his crisp khaki pants, button up shirt, leather jacket and almost brand-new tennis shoes. It was what he wore today for the trip to see the space shuttle. It never occurred to him to change into something else.

Bucky stopped in front of him and tilted his head a bit to look into Steve’s eyes. Bucky was a bit shorter than Steve, something Steve had never realized before. “Please tell me you have something more comfortable than what you’re wearing?” asked Bucky teasingly, looking Steve up and down.

“Not really,” confessed Steve with a blush.

Bucky sighed overdramatically, grabbed Steve’s free hand and pulled him into the hallway and to the open door. “Put your bag in here,” he told Steve. “If we’re going to lounge around and do nothing all night, you need to be appropriately dressed.” Steve set his small case down by a dresser that Bucky was currently digging around in while muttering under his breath. “Aha! I knew I kept them. My sister bought these but grossly overestimate my size.” Bucky pulled out some grey sweat pants and tossed them at Steve. Bucky straightened and then headed for the closet. “You’re lucky I like my t-shirts huge. Though maybe it’s unlucky for me, because I’ll miss ogling your outrageous pecs all night.”

Steve fought and lost to another blush. The idea of Bucky stroking his bare chest was arousing.

Bucky held up two shirts. One was emblazoned with the logo for the music group Led Zepplin while the other declared it a Nike work out shirt. “One of these should be big enough,” Bucky announced, tossing them on the bed. “You change, socks optional. You’d think this building would be drafty but it’s really not. You want pizza, Chinese, Thai? If you want Indian I have to go pick it up, they don’t deliver.”

Steve sat on Bucky’s bed and began unlacing his shoes. “Pizza please. Italian sausage, onions, lots of cheese, and maybe some olives if you like them.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “We’ll skip the olives. Nasty.” With that Bucky disappeared out the door, ostensibly to order the pizza but also to give Steve privacy to change.

Steve changed quickly. The pants were just slightly too short but that was all right. It was just he and Bucky. He did feel more comfortable though and took the opportunity to look around Bucky’s private space to get a sense of the man.

The art on the wall was interesting. He didn’t know the artist but it had a distinctive western flavor to it. Horses in pastel colors, painted as if owned by a Native American warrior. Some strange blue object that could be fantastical bird. What was definitely a Native American scene, a dead warrior’s spirit rising to the heavens from his pyre. Steve rather liked them. He turned his attention to the rest of the room. A few photos of what Steve assumed was Bucky’s family, vacation photos, and bric-a-brac gathered from those travels. It was homey, nice, lived-in, not showy like Tony’s Tower sometimes felt like. Bucky’s bed was made but rumpled from where Steve had sat to take his shoes off. The coverlet was black and white houndstooth, thick and downy. Four pillows graced the head of the bed, soft looking.

Feeling he’d observed enough, Steve headed back to the living room. Bucky was in the kitchen, gathering plates, cups and drinks. “I’ve got iced tea, lemonade, Pepsi. I shouldn’t be drinking caffeine this late, but screw it. It’s the weekend and I want to stay up as late as we want tonight,” Bucky said as soon as Steve came into view.

Steve leaned against the island. “I’m totally at your disposal,” he told Bucky complacently. “Who’s the artist in your bedroom?”

Bucky looked surprised at the question and then grinned. “Like them? His name is Woody Crumbo. Native American artist. Fell in love with him in high school. My family took a summer vacation through the southwest. I don’t remember where I got those prints, but I’ve had them hung up in my bedroom no matter where I lived: parents’ house, dormitory, and now here in D.C.”

“I’ll have to look him up. I love them,” Steve confessed.

Bucky grinned, as if pleased by Steve’s approval. It dimmed for a moment though as Bucky thought of something. “I guess the gallery crawl that Tony, Pepper and I took you on was a bust. Maybe original art isn’t what you need right now. If you want, next time I’m in New York, we’ll hit MOMA and the Met, some others, find you prints of the art that does appeal to you. Put some stuff on your walls so it’ll feel like a home.”

Steve gave Bucky a soft smile. “I’d like that a lot.”

They stared at each other but Steve didn’t know how long, just lost in looking at each other. Bucky, Steve decided soppily, was a work of art himself. When Steve felt up to it, he might ask Bucky to pose for him. It was time he started drawing for pleasure instead of an emotional release.

Bucky eventually piled Steve’s arms with supplies and hustled him to the couch. The pizza arrived and Bucky went downstairs to get it. Once returned, the pizza boxes opened and the two men munching on a slice, Bucky mumbled around a bite, “Movie? Video games? Just stare dreamily into each other’s eyes like a Regency romance pairing?”

Steve choked on his pizza at the idea of Bucky in a high waisted Empire style gown, coquettishly fanning himself in a cramped ballroom. “Well, I figured we’d watch movies, but now I’m hoping it’s anything but a Jane Austen story.”

Bucky laughed. “You mentioned that you’d been reading a biography on Henry V while you were overseas. You like Shakespeare?”

“Shakespeare’s good,” nodded Steve.

Bucky gave a self-satisfied grin. “This series is going to knock your socks off. It’s called _The Hollow Crown_. It’s two seasons, essentially, but the BBC reenacted all of Shakespeare’s medieval plays, all the way through the War of the Roses. The cast is phenomenal, especially the lady playing Margaret of Anjou. I can’t read Shakespeare,” Bucky confided, “but watching it, I totally understand why Shakespeare is still a phenomenon 500 years later.”

Steve grabbed another slice of pizza and gestured with it at the television. “Movies aren’t going to watch themselves, Buck. Let’s do it.”

Bucky queued up Richard II, curled up next to Steve and pressed play. Steve settled in and had no qualms putting his free arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Just as he’d thought. They fit perfectly, made for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woody Crumbo is my all time favorite American artist. My mother has a piece called Spirit Horse that has graced every home she's lived in since before her marriage to my father. I bought prints of the ones mentioned in this chapter at an art museum in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Until recently they were always in my bedroom. His style is simple but evocative, using a modern style to traditional ideas of Native American society.
> 
> The Cosmosphere is located in Hutchinson, Kansas. When I lived in Wichita, Kansas, my friends and I would often troop to Hutchinson and go there. The museum is fantastic. They have flown space modules, moon rocks, mock lunar modules and a ton of artifacts from both the American and Soviet Russia space agencies at the height of the Cold War's Space Race. If you are a space freak, you need to take the time to visit the Cosmosphere. I HIGHLY recommend it. [The Cosmosphere Website](https://cosmo.org/)
> 
> A friend two years ago turned me onto The Hollow Crown. The cast list is astounding, the sets both studio and outdoors are inspiringly historical, and while I'm not overly fond of Shakespeare myself, I was blown away by the actors' embracement of The Bard's words. This series is the only Shakespeare I own. I know most libraries have this series, The Hollow Crown and The Hollow Crown: The War of the Roses, and some streaming services, such as Amazon, have it as well. Check it out, view the cast list and be blown away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! The boys wanted to drag this out forever and ever, but I was on a deadline; all Harlequin Hoopla stories must be posted/finished by March 15. I could have written a ton more. More angst, more introspection, and more feelings. However the point of the challenge is to create a happily ever after. Hurt/comfort has it's place and I adore it, but I needed a feel good story and my muse was not turning to that.
> 
> So last Saturday I sat down and told the Steve and Bucky in my head they had 5 chapters to sort themselves out. They did it in 4. LOL! This last chapter is more of an epilogue than a true chapter but it should give you an idea of how they've progressed and where they are going with their happily ever after. I may write more on this. I don't know. I've got so many other writing projects, however, but we'll see.
> 
> I want to thank all of you who kudoed, wrote comments, and just clicked on the story and read without doing either of those things. Thank you. The response to this story was overwhelming. Pen pals is one of my favorite tropes in the Stucky fandom but so often it's soldier!Bucky/civilian!Steve. I wanted to turn that around, put a new spin on it. I hope I did it justice.

Buck,

These last few months seem unreal to me. I’m not in the trenches of France or Belgium, or liberating another horror that is the concentration camps in Germany and Poland. More recently, no sand or fierce glare of the sun is beating down on me. No startling at the most innocuous of things, thinking they cover a bomb. I still start at things flashing out of the corner of my eye, but I quickly realize that it’s not a sniper or an ambush.

It’s not been easy, I don’t think it ever will be. I’ve lived through a lot in just a few short years. It’s going to take time to get things straight in my mind and get rid of the guilt that I carry for things gone wrong that I blame myself for and shouldn’t. Knowing is one thing. Accepting it a totally different animal.

While I have to admit my friends have been a godsend since returning from Afghanistan, having you in my life has been nothing short of miraculous. Panic attacks, rages, the suicide attempt that we won’t speak of except in therapy, the total shut down when I’m overwhelmed, you’ve been through them all with gentleness and love. I never thought I would be worthy of that kind of love and thank God every day that you bear me such love. As much as I love you, I don’t think my love equals yours, broken as I am and will be for sometime to come. I’m humbled by it.

I know I’m going to be in D.C. tomorrow for the weekend. I’m looking forward to the trip into the mountains of Virginia. I realize you are doing this so that I don’t have to subjected to the loud fireworks celebrations that consume this country every Fourth of July. Your protests that you’ve never liked fireworks rang hollow, you know. I know what you’re doing. You can’t hide it from me. I’m on to your tricks. But I don’t care. It’s more time spent alone with you and I’ll take that as a birthday present every year if you’re obliging.

However, I’m not writing to tell you how excited I am for our trip. I’m writing to tell you that my therapist, Lindsey, has said I can start thinking about perhaps a job of some sort. Naturally Nick Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D. offered me an elite team to lead. I mean, it makes sense. It’s what I’m good at. But I’m done. I’m retired. No more. The only thing I want to strategize is how to get you out of your underwear and kissing me. I’ve done my duty, more than, really. It’s time to live the life I’ve earned. Even Dr. Erskine would say I’ve earned it. I don’t think he expected to live a life of constant service. I was just supposed to be a cog in the war’s offensive, not a lifetime warrior.

So that brings me to this. I want to move in with you. I’ve got a hell of a bank account in backpay the government gave me when I came out of the ice, hardly touched. Plus, what I earned in Afghanistan, hardly touched. We can afford a bigger place to fit the two of us. Maybe I’ll go to college. Maybe I’ll open an art gallery and show up and coming artists. Skies the limit, right? I’m sure something will come to me, some new path in my life that will include you. That is, if you want it to?

We can discuss it this weekend, if you’re game to try living together.

Love,

Steve

Steve,

I’m with you til the end of the line. Can we move a bit closer to the museum? The commute for me right now is terrible. Get here soon. That cabin in the woods won’t wait forever.

Love, 

Bucky


End file.
